


The Jones Imposter

by Kat08



Series: TJI [1]
Category: Coraline (2009), Coraline - All Media Types, Coraline - Neil Gaiman
Genre: "Exotic" soup, Creepy, Dark fic, Don't Ask, Eventual Romance, F/F, Psychological Horror, The Other World
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2019-09-20 22:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17031054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat08/pseuds/Kat08
Summary: In a slightly altered universe where Coraline’s parents are separated, the aftermath of her encounter with the Other World and its creator is told from the perspective of her real mother, Mel. While her daughter is away on a school-funded, month-long vacation, Ms. Jones is left feeling lonely and out of place in the empty old house without her daughter to keep her company.However, it isn’t empty for long.





	1. Quietude

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> A good portion of this was pre-written, but only the key points of the story/ending. I’m currently weaving those into a proper fic and writing new chapters at the moment, so here’s the first couple of them. 
> 
> I truly hope you enjoy— please leave feedback, questions, etc. so I know whether to keep writing. Even a Kudos will do!
> 
> The beginning of the story is basically a different, shortened perspective on the movie/book, a little recap and a way to establish differences between canon and this fic. 
> 
> (Disclaimer, obviously, but none of these characters are mine!)
> 
> Here’s the intro + Chapter One.
> 
> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

Melissa Jones was the single mother of an eleven-year-old girl named Coraline. Her husband Charlie and her had long ago fallen out of love, but had remained friends. 

Still, over the years, connections tended to fade. Mel had never been the most popular girl in her grade- gardening as a hobby wasn't exactly seen as trendy for her time. 

Hell, she hadn't even liked to be near big groups in school. She'd always been quieter, shyer. It was the biggest difference between her and her daughter. 

It was probably, considering these things, _not_ a splendid idea to have relocated the pair to such a remote location. 

But, rent was cheap, and besides, Coraline could always make new friends at the school here. Mel didn't think the girl would have too much trouble with that; she was a quirky one, but she really drew people to her. Her fanciful little dreamer. 

The preteen had dyed her hair as of last month, from her hazel-brown natural color to a rich and vibrant blue. Again, odd, but her mother found it endlessly charming regardless. She stood out drastically against the dullness of the old walls of the Pink Palace. 

The house itself was split into three quadrants. One was upstairs, where an eccentric older man resided. Mel would normally have her guard up around those types, but from what she'd seen of him, Mr. Bobinsky was completely harmless. Definitely _weird_ , though. 

Their downstairs neighbors were a couple of retired old actresses by the names of Spink and Forcible. They'd insisted upon reading her palms the very first day she and Coraline had moved in, actually, and Mel had barely escaped with her box of knick knacks, assuring the pair she'd return later to talk astrology, and to the “spirits” (she hadn't technically spoken to the women since).

She'd noticed the old woman—the landlord, in fact—across the bog, Mrs. Lovatt, had had a son. An awkward boy, but sweet enough. 

Perhaps Coraline would hit it off with him, it'd certainly give her someone her age to occupy herself with before school started. Mel would have to invite them over sometime for a garden party. 

It was only about a month before Coraline went back to school. Mel hoped she'd find her new friends soon, though she knew she shouldn't worry. The girl was far more resourceful than she'd ever been–it was why Mel trusted her to be so independent. Coraline was absolutely mature beyond her years. 

She often got the sense that her daughter was wiser than she was. 

### One: Quietude 

 

_"Ugh. "_

"It's freezing!" 

"... ghhhh. "

Annoyed, I tear the sheets off of me. It's too damn _cold_ , and this mattress is too firm for my lower back. I shiver violently. Why couldn't I have thought to buy a comforter _before_ moving into a hundred-year-old house?! 

"Screw this" , I mumble to no one in particular, sliding grumpily off the bed. 

It's stale, the air in the house is the same air that's been sitting for a century and a half without a good crossbreeze to clear it of dust.

I sneeze, the force of it almost tipping me over backwards. Shambling around like a wayward spirit, I fumble for the light switch—a fruitless endeavor, as I come to find out. 

The plastic device snaps up, and sure enough, the lights don't come on. Figures.

I shuffle at a slower pace as I pass Coraline's room; I don't want to wake her up. Knowing her, she'd hate to be woken up, and the girl would just keep me up _with_ her, bless her. I smile, thinking about our many late-night talks. 

Most people would call us a lonely pair, but I know how wrong that is. We've a good friendship, her and I, and I'm perfectly content with only having one. 

As long as I get a decent bit of sleep once in a while.

I make it down the stairs, miraculously: it's a long, twisty staircase, beautifully carved, but creaky and slippery under my numb feet. I've often wondered if one could sled down them successfully. (Heaven knows Coraline'll try at some point.)

The kitchen is dark, but I sit at the table anyway. 

I decide to make myself a cup of tea— if I can't get comfortable, I might as well get warm... 

The night seems to extend into infinity. With our clock still needing to be repaired, I've no idea what time it is.

My laptop is dead, to add to it all, and it'll be ages before it turns on again after I charge it.

I settle for watching the rain fall and drift off eventually. 

⚉⚉⚉

The next morning is a rocky start to a bleak day.

All I want is more sleep, and the dreary weather certainly isn’t helping my mood. It's raining, foggy, and generally unpleasant out of doors, which means I'm inside today working on my botany page. 

I'm sure the bags under my eyes are visible to Coraline, who threatens to sap me of what little energy I still possess by begging, relentlessly, to be allowed outside. 

...Which, in my humble opinion, is ridiculous. The untamed wilderness has all sorts of pesky things to worry about, like mud, or anthills, or poison oak.

Or mud. Have I mentioned I’m a bit of a nut about dirt in the house?

Had my ex husband been living with us, she'd have gone right off to ask him after getting a no from me. Not that he would have defied me, though. 

I groan at the screen in front of me. The lack of sleep is actually distorting my vision- a sure and welcome sign that I need a break.

A thump sounds from the family room; my daughter must be rooting through her grandma's things again. I'm extraordinarily close to shouting at her when she calls my attention herself. 

Upon investigation, Coraline's found a tiny door in the wall. 

Exasperated, I tell her it's probably been closed off after the dividing of the house. Though what such a small and oddly-placed passageway could have been for, I haven't a clue. 

That night, from my stiff sheets, I hear her walking about.

Which is fine, really, I know she hates losing sleep, she wouldn’t be walking around without some purpose, so I just lay back down and wait for her to return, probably with a glass of water or a midnight snack in hand, if I know that girl at all.

I drift off, mind filled with thoughts of botany and boxes of old furniture I still have yet to unpack, but probably won’t get to for quite some time.

The next day, driving to the store, she tells me how great the food and parenting is in her dream life. 

I consider ordering takeout to satiate her, but decide she'll have to put up with my mediocre cooking for another night. 

My ex-husband's always had a passion for it. Not that he was very _good_ , per se...

On a side note, I've already lost one of the keys that was left in the kitchen drawer when we first moved in. I'd been planning to give it to the landlord, the weird little thing, but I suppose it doesn't matter.

It looked out of place anyhow. 

⚉⚉⚉

The days move past like a log on a river current. 

Despite her prior enthusiasm for a new school and bigger house, Coraline's mood shifts immensely in those first two days, from passive and curious to focused and _engaged_. 

With what, I have no idea. I'm starting to worry about her. At least that boy Wybourne's been over here a few times. 

Maybe she's just annoyed with him lately? 

I almost always find it works best to let Coraline sort out her own issues, so I say nothing and wait for her mood to lighten. 

Another day passes, and she's nearly back to normal again. 

Nearly. 

She's been wearing her dragonfly pin quite a lot, lately, I notice as I edit an online article.

As she doodles on a piece of paper, it gleams in the midday light, reflecting tiny neon rainbows onto the walls. _How cute_ , I muse.

After about ten minutes of furious crayon-sketching, the azure-headed kid gets up from the table, informing me "I gotta go pee, don't look at my stuff", with a meaningful look, and proceeds to take off like a bullet up the stairs.

Naturally, I ignore her warning and lean over to grab the drawing as soon as she leaves.

I blink at the paper. 

It’s two doodles, a black cat and... me, I think, except for that I've never had that haircut, I'm in a nice dress for once, and I'm wielding a gray toothpick. 

...Or is it a tiny sword? Am I meant to be swordfighting the cat?

I feel more than see the offended stare from the corner of my eye.

"Mom, I said not to look", she groans, snatching the page and stuffing it into her coat pocket.

I rub my eyes and smile weakly. "What, have you got an archive of forbidden doodles I should know about?" , I laugh.

She gives no answer, but I do hear a good deal of under-the-breath muttering, which I elect to ignore. I shake my head as she sulks away. 

Kids will be kids, I suppose. So secretive. 

I notice the missing key around her neck later that day.

It stands out against her skin, the black metal of the key casting strange, formless shadows on her collarbone.

I don't question her; it makes for an interesting accessory- but it does perplex me. If all she'd wanted in the first place was to wear it, why not simply ask?

Besides, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t even unlock anything apart from that useless little door.

The first day of school goes as we'd both planned. We'd already bought her uniform, wacky gloves and all, after some consideration.

It had been an off week, even for a girl like Coraline. Things were better, now- she does her homework, talks with me about her new friends, and even adopts a stray cat in the same week. 

The garden outside is going swimmingly, as well- Coraline seems to be getting on quite well with the neighbors. Her strange phase seems to have ended as soon as it’s begun.

Oh, and that cat part really hadn't been anticipated, but I'm in no position to complain.

I mean, he does keep the pests away—though, for whatever reason, Coraline refuses to name him.

She simply calls "Dinner!" , when it's time to feed him, and he comes, as if he understands the word. It’s the funniest thing. 

I keep thinking he's somehow familiar, but honestly- how many black cats do you meet that have such brilliant blue eyes? Must be a rare breed, anyway. 

⚉⚉⚉

About two months into the school year, it's October, and me and Coraline begin decorating the house. 

Halloween has always been her favorite day of the year- she gets to dress up, eat candy, and have fun for one exhausting night. She's always loved every bit of it.

One year, she dressed up as a tarantula, and as soon as she got home, she begged me to throw out the costume and "burn it".

I obliged her, save for the latter part— she couldn't stand spiders, had never liked them, that's why she'd wanted to dress as one for Halloween. 

It _must_ be suitably scary if you scare yourself. I still have the headband with those fuzzy little antennae.

This time around, however, it's as if she's suddenly grown out of it. 

Yes, her little blue head pops in and out of the kitchen to carve pumpkins or bake cookies, but I can sense she's not as invested anymore. 

It's as if she's lost the spirit of it. 

Hating to see her look so lost, I ask her about it at dinner one night. 

"Coraline." 

She looks up from her unenthusiastic bite of spinach. 

"What's with you lately?" 

She blinks at me. 

"Halloween's your favorite holiday, in case you forgot." 

I smile in the hopes she'll lighten up a little.

Coraline sets down her fork, deep in thought. I start to wonder if I've said anything wrong before she replies.

"Yeah, I know, Mom. And it's not a holiday. We still have class."

Fair enough, but that didn't answer my question. I try her again. "Did anything happen at school?"

She shakes her head. But she isn't denying that _something_ happened. 

“Do you want to talk about it?" 

A violent shake of the head. "You wouldn't get it" , she mumbles. 

I give up, sighing. "All right." 

There's a flyer going around at school, a copy of which finds itself in my hands one chilly Friday after we get home.

Coraline drops her bookbag with a thud, looking at me expectantly. I look it over. It's a flyer for a school-funded, month-long field trip to Hawaii. _What?_ What on Earth is it so long for? 

I read it over again to be sure. Yes, it's four full weeks, entirely school-funded, minus any money spared for buying souvenirs. Even the food is paid for. I pass the paper back to her, considering it.

"Well? Can I go?" , she warbles excitedly. She's practically bouncing on her toes.

I laugh. "You'll miss Halloween day...” 

She shrugs. "We can just have our own Halloween when I get back, right?"

Good point. 

"Why not?" , I answer, with a wink. She rolls her eyes at that. 

It'll be good to have some me-time, and besides, when else does one get the chance to visit the _island of Hawaii_ for virtually no cost? 

Although, it's an awfully lengthy amount of time I'll be by myself, but why would I rob my daughter of such a rare experience?

I’m a grown woman, I can handle it.

In the end, she'll be grateful for it and I'll be glad to have let her go. 

Coraline and I count the days until she leaves. 

I make sure to hammer her about bringing extra sunscreen--she burns so easily--and she makes sure to bring plenty of random knick-knacks and playthings to take up space in the suitcase. 

Truthfully, I'm a little worried about the plane ride and the trip in general, but I trust her teacher immensely. She's a kind and diligent woman. Coraline will be just fine.

⚉⚉⚉

The sky is clear for once as Coraline leaves for her field trip, lugging her oversized suitcase behind her as she runs to the stalled bus.

I wave to her as she clambers on board, blowing her a kiss as the doors close on her elated face. 

She's going to have a blast over there for sure, but I hope she hasn't left anything she needs. 

Although, what's this in my hand...? 

_Crap!_ Frantically, I wave my arms at the driver for him to open the doors. He sees me and obliges, thank goodness, because my daughter's dragonfly pin is still clutched in my hand. She never really goes anywhere without it. 

I would hate for her to forget something so important to her.


	2. Prison Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The place is looking a tad dusty. Perhaps some help is needed... 
> 
> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

### Two: Prison Break

 

Later that day, I try to relax with a hot bath. I haven't taken one here yet, so I'm forced to clean out the unwanted inhabitants myself—a couple of tiny beetles and one jet-black spider—before I turn on the water.

Thankfully, I don't see any other living thing in there after that. The water is clean, though, as the plumber I'd called last week had seen to. 

Poor Coraline had had an unfortunate encounter when we'd first moved in and had refused to take a shower until we'd gotten it fixed. She'd used the garden hose to rinse off the first day of school just to avoid the sludgy water. I’m just glad that we can enjoy it now that it’s fixed.

Closing my eyes, I've nearly begun to drift off when I hear a clatter in the kitchen. 

I tense, but remember... the cat. He must've gotten in somehow, I wouldn't be surprised.

I relax once again. "Stupid cat" , I breathe. 

I should really buy a water gun to keep him at bay.

The minutes tick by, and it's been about half an hour of total silence before said cat pushes his scruffy black head through the ajar bathroom door.

I glare at him, but then I realize— he's panting. The coarse fur stands on end- _what happened_? 

Brow furrowing, I clamber out of the tub and wrap myself in a towel, hastily draining the water and arranging my hair in a smaller one. 

The cat sneezes, still shaking like a leaf.

"Are you hurt?" , I murmur, reaching out to check for an injury. There's a thin scratch on his face above the cheekbone. 

He shies away, seeming to have calmed down enough to regain his dignity, the haughty thing. One thing is for sure, though.

Whatever bit or clawed him, it narrowly missed his eye.

I grab a tissue and gently clean it with some difficulty; the cat doesn't cooperate very well. As expected. 

Could it have been a rat? I'd thought for sure we hadn't had a pest problem...

I secure the towel around me, leaving the cat in the bathroom while I proceed down the stairs. 

It's dark—as a rule, I leave lights off if I'm not there to use them—I flick on the switch as I enter the kitchen.

It's... a mess. 

My breath catches as I take in the broken dishes and pile of miscellaneous junk on the floor. Whatever it was, it was either desperate for a scrap of food or the aftermath of a very messy burglar. It’s a lucky thing for us we don’t have much of extreme value... 

Sure, the house is practically ancient and houses plenty of antiques, but it isn't like it's a popular tourist location. Me and my daughter live in relative seclusion, minus the neighbors. Never in a million years would I have anticipated a robbery. 

I consider calling someone, but after doing a cautious check of the house, I find nothing else disturbed. No broken or opened windows, no general signs of a break-in.

I allow myself to relax. There's no burglar in the house as far as I can tell.

This probably means there's a rat, though, so I make sure to arm myself with a pair of kitchen scissors I grab from the pile of clutter. I mutter aimlessly to myself about calling pest control on the way out.

I've found rat droppings in the house before. It's the whole reason me and Coraline had an argument awhile back—she'd been angry that I'd sealed off a potential rat nest. 

I'd just never actually seen the rat. 

My daughter had claimed they were mouse droppings, since that cuckoo bird Bobinsky upstairs "ran a mouse circus". Of course he did.

Sitting at the dining room table, I’m sorting through the drawer's contents when there's another clatter from the other room. 

Springing up, I clutch the scissors for dear life, and venture into the parlor that we've yet to clear out.

In the dim lighting, I see precious little, but I'm positive the little thing can see me. 

The faint shape I manage to make out has stopped moving completely—it must be waiting for me to leave. 

With gritted teeth, I go for the light switch- too late!

The rat scurries into action as soon as I make the reach for it.

The switch flicks uselessly on, and it's then I remember the broken light bulbs I still need to fix. Lovely.

I raise an eyebrow at the somehow ...off... noise I suddenly notice. 

Instead of the pitter-patter you'd expect with a rodent, it's more like... tapping. 

Weird.

I blink in thought and decide there's no way in hell I'm going after a rat at this hour, whether it sounds off or not. 

Groaning in frustration, I give up the chase. "You win!" , I snap at the unseen intruder.

I must be imagining things because I almost think I hear two sharp taps in reply.

⚉⚉⚉ 

The morning is rough. Mr-Nameless-the-Cat decides he wants to wake me up by poking at my face; I don't approve. He glares daggers at me when I place him firmly outside the house. 

The cat's probably used to Coraline feeding him in the mornings, but I'm in no mood to accommodate. 

Besides, he's technically the Lovatt's cat as well. The mangy old thing can go bother them for awhile.

After a small breakfast of toast and the last egg we have, I find a necklace string left on Coraline's nightstand as I enter her room to clean it.

Huh. Part is caught in the half-open drawer, and I carefully open it to dislodge whatever's inside and take it out.

It's the black key! Coraline must've forgotten it when she left... 

How odd, she's usually never that forgetful, save for her dragonfly pin. 

Come to think of it, I haven't actually seen her wearing this in quite a while. I thought she'd lost it or grown bored with it long ago. 

“Wonder why she kept it” , I murmur, examining the key.

A scratch at the window nearly makes me jump out of my skin- it's the cat, staring me down like he's going to eat me. 

“Little weirdo...”

I gather the string in my hand and leave. No point in a staring contest I clearly won't win. 

⚉⚉⚉

It's only the end to day three of my daughter's four-week leave, and I'm already bored out of my skull.

The website thing is going great, but as of now, I don't need to write another article until the weekend.

So I go upstairs to fetch the key. 

Curiosity is a hell of a drug, and I'm about done with the tap-dancing rat in the house I always hear scuttling about. If I don't find the nest behind that little door, I'll just call someone. 

Actually, I’ll call someone either way. I’m no rat expert.

Upon entering my bedroom, there's immediately a problem. 

The key, which I'd left on my pillow earlier today, is gone.

My heart jumps with a brief adrenaline shock before I realize the cat could have very well carried it off someplace. 

It wouldn't be the _first_ time little things have gone missing in this house...

I'm still annoyed, however, and spend the evening watching TV with a disappointingly lukewarm pizza that took nearly an hour to arrive, what with how far-out the house is from the rest of civilization. Better than toast for dinner, though.

Naturally, I have an awful nightmare soon after I fall asleep.

It's dark, as in _pitch_ dark—my vision is blurry, my head is ringing, and I attempt to orient myself as I peer around. I’m still "in" the house, so it would seem.

But something’s here with me, I'm certain of it, and I hear the audible creak of a door hinge before laying cautiously back onto the sofa.

I’m only dreaming, I might as well just wait to see what happens. _Can’t hurt._

There’s another small noise as the door opens further. 

The damn rat again, I think, scowling, and I'm just about to get up to chase it when I hear a louder sound. I stay down and stay quiet, partially worried it really is a burglar this time... 

But it isn’t a burglar at all.

The next thing I see is a gaunt, horrid shadow on the far wall, moving, the figure staggering unnaturally on multiple limbs, about to reach the doorway, and I'm trying desperately to move, get up, get away from it, but the shock of the moment overwhelms me, and I sink back limply into the cushions like a bag of jelly. 

The last thing I hear before I fade back into slumber is the echoed sound of tapping on the hardwood, heavy enough to resemble human footsteps...

I awake with a gasp. My heart's pounding ferociously.

"Ugh" , I sigh, my voice meek and shaky. 

That was horrible! I haven't had a dream like that in... _years_ , most likely. 

Just to confirm it really was only a nightmare, I do a thorough sweep of the house. 

Nothing seems out of place, other than the mess that remains of the kitchen counter, and I find no tall, hellish monster lurking the house. 

I do find the front door unlocked, but I dismiss it, since I've forgotten to lock it many times in the past.

I make the choice to have a calm cup of tea in the kitchen before I set to cleaning up the drawer's contents. 

_____________________________________

_The night before..._

__

_In a stagnant chamber, something sleeps. If you could call it sleeping. The air is stale, not a molecule moves out of place. One would think nothing lived in a place such as this, and how could it? The only scenery is the blank whiteness surrounding the centerpiece: a gargantuan, web-like structure suspended from an unseen ceiling._

__

_Within that, and it can nearly be mistaken for another strange object, is an entity who has lived a great many decades, most likely a couple of centuries, at least. Like a stick insect hidden in plain view, its protruding limbs hold itself afloat as if it is a statue, symmetrical and somber in its pose._

__

_Thin, dark fabric drapes, a tattered dress underneath it, the patterns resembling nature, but how can this be natural?_

__

_The creature's skin is like porcelain. It is bone-white, cracked like a doll, and yet somehow alive, vibrant as it can be in this dormant state, the smooth surface gleaming._

__

_Digits formed of needle-thin metal are curled, arms bent, as if pensive and deep in thought. One hand is missing from its arm. The face possesses no eyes, nor sockets. The mouth bares its white teeth, dark lips forming a grimace. The expression is troubled- almost pained, and one could wonder a great many things about its history._

__

_And then, suddenly, a thin scratching can be heard, the subtle click of a lock opening the sole sound that exists here. The tall form remains unmoving, but the atmosphere is pregnant with the anticipation of change. The noise stops, and, after a brief pause, a small door is opened near the top of the web structure. The wood is nearly eroded away, or perhaps it was hacked away at from the inside._

__

_A small shape is visible in the doorway._

__

_It's the missing hand._

__

_In its grasp is a key on a string and what appear to be two black buttons. Its movements are shaky, loose, but it scuttles with determination onto its place on the arm, clicking itself back into place._

__

_Immediately, life jolts back into the form, the head snapping around to face the hand. The first thing it does is swallow the key the hand had procured. It coughs, hoarsely, and then begins to re-attach the buttons onto its face, nimble fingers moving with a vicious resolve but a careful accuracy._

__

_With the door opened, there's only one goal left to accomplish..._

 

_____________________________________

 

Only a half-hour later and I've finished repairing the drawer and picking up the junk that I’d found in it. As I drop the last key into it and turn to walk away, I hear a small chirp from somewhere in the house, meaning the cat's come back.

"I do recall Coraline telling me you have _two_ other owners!" , I shout to him. 

Sighing, I sit back down at the table to get an early start on my next work project. 

The cat makes himself known just as I finish the first sentence. He blinks innocently at me. I scoff. 

"What?"

No reaction from him. He merely jumps onto my lap as if he knows this is exactly the wrong time to look for affection.

"I need to work, cat..." , I trail off, looking up— the doorbell’s just rang. 

We both freeze momentarily before I snap out of it and go to answer it, letting the cat slip off of my lap as I do so. 

He stays on my chair, eyes comically wide. Weirdo.

The door opens with a gentle tug; the hinges need to be oiled, I really should have gotten to that–

"Good morning!" 

Standing in front of me is a dark-haired woman in sunglasses. Or, wait, they're too round... she's blind. 

She looks about my age, but I've never seen her before around here, or in my life, for that matter. She's wearing a white turtleneck sweater and holding a small purse. 

She's very cheerful, and, I also note, very pretty. I smile back. 

"Sorry", I laugh awkwardly. "May I help you?" 

The woman's bright smile never falters. "You could say that. My name is Esther, it's wonderful to meet you." 

She holds out a dainty hand and I shake it, uncertain but somehow put at ease by her amiable demeanor. "Mel" , I reply.

Esther pauses, moving her head as if looking around at the house, but as she's most likely blind, I assume she's just using her other senses in some way. 

"You see, I've been the housekeeper here for many years. I only heard there were new residents a little while ago.”

I nod, and then remember she can't see it and open my mouth to say "Right", but she nods in reply and continues on. 

Shaken, I just keep listening. Must've been a coincidence.

"Of course, I've heard it's been divided up and all. So, after assessing the other neighbors..." , she muses, "I've decided you seem the most likely to accept my offer.” 

“Offer?" 

A nod. Oh, right. Housekeeper.

Before I can ask any questions, Esther clears her throat. "How about we sit down? I'll make you some hot chocolate." , she beams.

Perplexed, I just hum in agreement and allow her inside. 

It’s a tad disconcerting, letting a stranger into my house… no, her house as well, I suppose. 

I can’t help but feel off, though, I should be catering to her, the guest... but I let it go. Esther's kind enough, and besides, it seems as if she wants to get back into her job. 

I could really use the company anyhow. 

I take a seat at the table. She moves effortlessly through the house, not hesitating for even a moment. 

"So, uh, how long did you work here for?" , I start.

Maybe she served a family for awhile? That's probably why she knows her surroundings well enough to maneuver so freely. 

"About eight years. Do you prefer milk or water for your cocoa?" 

"Milk." 

"Lovely!" She fetches some from the fridge. I try her again. 

"Esther?" 

"Yes, dear?" 

"What were you going to ask me?" , I prompt, but I already know what she’s going to propose. 

She stirs the pot thoughtfully. "Oh! Well, seeing as I’ve lived in the house and served its residents for so long, would you be willing to let me resume my duties here?”

The comforting smell of chocolate wafts over to me as I process what she's asked me. "A housekeeper, huh?" , I murmur. 

"Of course. And I wouldn’t need payment, dear, tending to this house is payment enough for me. In fact, I have plenty in reserve to cover my own expenses…”

She sets down a mug in front of me and takes the seat across the table, hands folded neatly in front of her. Despite myself, I find my head bobbing in agreement. 

Sure, it's out of the blue, and a little odd, yes, but there's so much space here. Also, if she'd used to live and work here before we moved in, being gracious and accommodating is the least I can do for her. 

"I'm sure my daughter wouldn't mind too much, and besides, I do admit I get a bit lonely when she's off at school" , I laugh, taking a sip of the warm drink. 

It's marvelously sweet and comforting. "Thanks for this, by the way. It’s good." 

The woman smiles in return. "It's my pleasure, Melissa." Odd, I never told her my full name. She could've very well guessed Melanie, or Melinda. How funny.

Esther brushes away a strand of hair from her face. 

"There's a teensy thing I should tell you first, though."I shrug in reply. Oh, shit, I keep forgetting she can't see— 

She removes her glasses and I have to catch myself before I gasp.

She doesn't... have any… eyes. 

In their place are two black buttons.

"Ah" , I say, as if that explains anything, or as if this makes any sense AT ALL.

I want to hit myself. I'm trying to formulate a response of some sort when she cuts me off gently. 

"Not to worry! I was blinded at a young age, and you see, it's sort of a tradition in my family to... replace missing parts." 

She pauses to let me catch up, but I'm still reeling.

"We're just not the most conventional people, that’s all." 

I sober up, embarrassed for my rudeness.

"Right! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude at all! Can you..." , my voice fades. 

I want to hit myself, again, for almost asking if she can still see. That's preposterous, Melissa, you complete dingbat... 

"See? Oh, no, not at all. But I do hope they're not off-putting?"

I laugh. "No, no, they're fine." 

The rain drums on the rooftop. It's pouring fairly hard. I rub my neck. I'd feel bad sending a blind woman out in this...

"Hey, it's raining pretty bad, why don't you stay awhile longer?" , I invite her. 

"How generous of you, Melissa! May I have a look around, if you don't mind? It's been ages since I've last been here." 

I nod. "Sure thing, just, uh, watch out for rats. I think we may have one or two, I heard them the other night." 

"Oh I wouldn't worry, darling. Rats don't tend to come in here." 

I have no idea what she means, but I take it as a good sign. She does seem to know what she's talking about, after all. 

_____________________________________

_Two old women are in hysterics. On the living room floor lay two dead dogs, both with their eyes missing. One rather busty woman thinks it's a coyote attack, patting her roommate gently on the back. The other, shorter woman thinks it's goblins, sobbing and glancing around frantically as if to try and spot one. Both are hopelessly, hopelessly wrong._

_Two small lives for the continuation of one._

_A tragic thing, but better dogs than people..._

_____________________________________

 

The rest of the day is actually a breeze. Esther takes in the house in all its aged, dusty glory, and I anxiously try to explain away the clutter, fussing over every stray box— yet she's never annoyed with me for a moment.

The rain clears up eventually, and I'm hesitant to see her out, despite having only just met her.

With my daughter on a trip, I've been getting a little...well. 

Good company is hard to find, is all. 

As we proceed to the kitchen, she's quiet for a spell, as if she knows I want to say something. I do. 

"It's dark out, you know, could be a tough drive..." , I begin, and abruptly realize I have no idea where I'm going with this.

The woman smiles as sweetly as ever, the most knowing and patient expression on her doll-like face. 

I look at a far wall, reddening a bit out of embarrassment- I'm never this awkward, even with peculiar, button-eyed housekeepers I've just met. Honestly, it's strange that I've already gotten used to them. 

And not even just out of politeness... It must be her attitude, it's hard to be put off by something normally so unnatural when she's being so sweet and understanding. 

If anything, _I'm_ the weird one here, what with my cluttered house and anxious rambling...

"Do you think you'd want to stay the night?" , I manage. 

Sure, the skies are clear again, but I could always make excuses about wet roads or mudslides. And besides, isn't she blind? That must make driving twice as difficult... wait, _does_ she drive...?

She smiles cheerily. "Oh, how generous an offer... I suppose you're right, but where would I sleep?" 

Good question. After a brief analysis of the rooms of the house, I take Coraline's room for the night, and Esther takes mine. 

I say goodnight shortly after and head off to the bedroom; I'm feeling quite sleepy for once. 

Most people, I do realize, would have had their guest take their child's room if it were vacant. I just feel more comfortable this way, and even if my daughter is far more understanding than most, I'm sure she wouldn't want someone she just met in her bedroom. I try to be considerate of her privacy and all. 

Settling in for the night, I try not to roll off of the smaller mattress as I get comfortable. At least it isn't so dusty in here. Seems like Coraline's taking better care of her room than I am. 

I wonder how she'll react to finding out we have a housekeeper? I hope they'll get along, come to think of it. 

I laugh at the thought. Of course they will. 

Who wouldn't immediately like this woman?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉
> 
> To hopefully clear up any confusion, Mel _did_ hear about Coraline's dream, but what she _didnt'_ hear was the detail about button eyes. This is really just so our girl isn't immediately put on guard and has a chance to get to know our local doll-faced housekeeper without outside bias.
> 
> Although, said bias may be justified...


	3. Cracks in the Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The housekeeper refurnishes a few rooms. Curiosity kills... something.
> 
> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

### Three: Cracks in the Mirror

I wake up at- is it 10 AM? Hm.

I'm not usually one to sleep in, but as I stretch my limbs, I'm grateful that I did.

I rub at my eyes before I notice a pleasant smell— food? 

Looks like Esther woke up before me. Enticed, I wrap myself in my robe and head downstairs. 

She's in the kitchen, a pan in hand, humming jovially to a tune I’ve never heard. 

Her presence is still strange, and yet oddly soothing. Perhaps I’ve been isolating myself too much. 

"Morning" , I greet her, sitting down at the table and feeling a tad useless. 

No one's cooked properly in here since we moved in- it's nice, but I'm slightly put off. If Coraline were here, I'd be doing the cooking... 

She turns and smiles warmly. "You're up! Did you sleep well?" 

I almost nod, but catch myself. "Yeah, I feel so awake this morning... haven't had a good night's sleep in forever." 

Esther flips a pancake expertly. "That's wonderful, Mel... ", she responds, gathering a few cakes onto a plate and setting it on the table. 

I peer at them hungrily, feeling for all the world like a kid again. She hands me a plate and a fork, sitting across from me and facing the window as if she were looking out of it. 

I thank her and take a pancake, not wanting to seem greedy, but she pushes the plate towards me gently. 

"I've already eaten, dear. These are for you." 

Something about being taken care of for once makes me feel at ease. I thank her again, making light conversation about my job and about the house. She nods along and asks few questions, just listening. 

Before I know it, it's noon, and she's already somehow cleaned the kitchen and stands by the door, purse in hand and glasses back on.

She tells me it was lovely meeting me, and that she'll be back in a day or so with her things.

I watch her leave, curiously, because it seems she hasn't driven here after all, but walked— or, at least, walked from a close location. 

The thought had never crossed my mind to ask her where she lived, but then again, she had kept the focus of the conversation on me. 

Oh well, no harm done. I'm sure I'll get to know her plenty when she comes back. 

An hour after her departure, I already miss her being here. 

It may seem a little pathetic, but as I'm not used to social interaction apart from my daughter and neighbors, the brief, magical evening and morning with the woman are times I sorely wish to experience again.

I think of writing to Coraline, but decide against it for now. I've got work to do, and besides, I can tell her about our new soon-to-be housemate tomorrow, when my head's clearer. 

Perhaps... I feel lonely for other reasons, too. The woman's hands had looked so soft and well-manicured, her entire demeanor like an emotional embrace.

After getting over the initial shock of the buttons, I recall, I'd paused and taken in her features.

Since my ex-husband and I went our separate ways, I really haven't thought about a new relationship for awhile. 

Take, for instance, my first boyfriend, Carl, in college. 

He was too risky for a person like me, but I remember the fun we had. It’d lasted about a week, thankfully without drama. He still shoots me an email from time to time to see how I’m faring since the move. 

That same year, after the break-up, I'd been asked out by one of the girls from my literature class. We'd hit it off exceptionally well, more so than with my last partner, but her father hadn't approved of me.

And I'd never really known why for so long: I was quiet, polite, and did well in school. How could I possibly not meet his expectations? 

...Of course, I'd also been raised in a fairly easygoing, _open-minded_ household, and the thought had never occurred to me that the girl's parents might have been less... tolerant. 

The abundance of crosses and scripture in their house should have been a... _sign_ of their opinion of me, but I’d been sort of scatterbrained back then. 

No matter. I learned from that, and we moved on with our lives. 

And now, I'm off on my own, I have a daughter, and I spend a large amount of my time writing or gardening alone. 

So no, I hadn't given much thought to dating.

Until now. About a woman I've literally just met and know next to nothing about.

Classic me. 

And just like that, only a little while later, these thoughts are gone entirely from my mind. I'd planned on cleaning the kitchen, but it seems Esther's beat me to it. 

Somehow, the window is clean, the once dirty walls are practically pristine, and every tile looks shinier. Never did I imagine such a dull room could have such charm. 

My phone buzzes, jolting me a little.

It's a text message from Charlie, asking if I'd saved any of his drafts from right before we split up. I tell him no. 

Truthfully, I'd deleted them- they weren't his best work, and he'd been in a weird emotional place when he'd written them.

But that isn't my problem any longer- _I'm independent, now_ , I think, absently scrolling through my old texts. 

I turn off the phone and sit down, try to write a bit. Might as well try and be productive. 

I have another nightmare after I inevitably fall asleep in front of my laptop.

In this one, I'm in the kitchen-- which is exactly where I'd fallen asleep. 

My brain's losing its creativity with each passing day, I swear.

Anyhow, I manage to peer through my blurry eyelids and make out what appears to be a tall, thin figure in the hall. 

Of course, I want to scream- god knows I try to, but in my state, I can only panic internally and watch the silhouette stalk towards me.

Its posture and movements are hunched, chaotic, as if it's struggling to stand, or struggling to hold itself together, like it could fade away with one misstep. 

As before, my vision fades into black and I return to my otherwise dreamless sleep. 

In the morning, I search up treatments for sleep paralysis. It's quite odd that I’m having it, I've never had it before.

Maybe it’s the move that did it. Different house, and all. 

⚉⚉⚉ 

Esther returns at around ten in the morning, carrying one small black suitcase in her hand, and a large bright red one that she drags behind her on wheels. It sounds heavy. 

From absolutely nowhere, she produces a lemon poppy-seed muffin and hands it to me, smiling and stepping inside as I hold the door. 

"Thanks" , I say, "That's my favorite kind" . 

It'd always been my favorite, but I've never really mentioned it to anyone. I shrug it off as another happy coincidence. 

She only nods in response, as if she knew this already. I close the door carefully in her wake as not to bang it shut, the fragile old thing. She turns to me. 

"Melissa, darling, would you mind helping me upstairs?" 

"Of course." 

Since she'd last been here, I'd cleared out the guest room and had done my best to tidy up. Luckily, one of the movers had had a spare mattress he'd picked up from a store having a blowout sale, and he'd given it to us.

It fits the empty frame just fine, but I still apologize profusely to the woman for the plainness of the room, and the lack of a lamp, among other things, but she assures me she'll 'fix it up in no time'. 

As once before, I have no clue what that means, but I elect to let her do what she pleases. 

This did, after all, use to be her home. 

⚉⚉⚉ 

"Melissa, is there a spare rug anywhere in these boxes? I'm nearly done setting up my room" , she informs me at about four o'clock. 

I look up from my laptop, eyes watering from the strain. I rub at them and purse my lips slightly, confused. 

"Done? Did you find the furniture for that room already?" , I ask her, wondering how in the hell she could have managed that.

There hadn’t been much in here before we’d moved our own in, but what do I know? _She’s_ the housekeeper. And besides, I'm beginning to learn not to question some things with this woman. 

“Something like that. Care to come look? Perhaps, if it suits your fancy, I could rearrange _your_ room..." 

I murmur an agreement and follow her. 

My jaw wants to drop, but I settle for raising my eyebrows. 

She’s somehow transformed the room; instead of the cracked white pillars and faded pink of the peeling wallpaper, the borders are a dark brown and the walls look as good as new. I feel as if I'm on one of those home improvement shows. 

"How did you _do_ that with the wood? And the paint looks brand new!" , I laugh. 

The walls are smoother, too, as if the very material of them had been redone. 

She's only been back a few hours. Did she just happen to have paint on hand when she moved back in? 

It doesn’t even smell like chemicals in here. She must have had some other trick up her sleeve.

She scoffs, making a dismissive gesture. "I only scratched away the paint layered over all of this, dear ", she informs me.

I look down, but the floor is spotless. Not a single chip of paint to be found. 

What a thorough worker she must be... That, or a perfectionist. I can only wish I were that tidy.

The edges of my mouth quirk up in a bewildered grin. Laughing quietly to myself, I nod at her.

"I'm definitely going to want this treatment for my room, whatever you did." 

She's only too happy to accept. 

During the next few days, Esther "refreshes" the upstairs rooms, save for Coraline's bedroom. 

Actually, she’d insisted on doing that one first, but I'm saving that for when my daughter actually returns. She'll be thrilled at all the changes, I'm sure of it- I just hope she'll enjoy our new housemate, too.

Maybe I should have at least called about it beforehand... 

After she fixes up the last room upstairs, I suggest she takes a break for a while, though she really hasn't seemed tired for a second.

I'd just feel bad if she continued to improve the house while I sat and wrote gardening articles. 

I mean, of course, it's my _job_ and all, but I can't stand feeling like a bump on a log. 

I inquire her about herself after she finally agrees to take some personal time, eager to grow closer. It's been too long since I've had a proper friend. 

Over lunch, I find out that she’d retired early due to a large inheritance left to her. I get it, too, I wouldn’t want to be working if I had that much money either.

I ask her why she hasn’t bought herself a house, or bought this one back, but she tells me that housekeeping is a familiar comfort and a pleasure to do. Makes enough sense. 

Unfortunately, the woman never quite delves into her personal life past this. 

She remains vague, perhaps not quite comfortable being open with me just yet- I understand, but still feel a twinge of bitterness all the same.

Not at her, but at myself. Now I've made things awkward... 

Or so I think?

Esther behaves no differently afterwards, though, which eases some anxiety. 

Until a couple of days later. 

It's pouring outside, rain cascading down, almost as if the clouds had simply emptied themselves all at once. The droplets run down the glass like dainty little tears. 

I'm alone in the kitchen for once, editing one of my coworker's pages. 

The screen's white glow and the faint hum of the refrigerator are the only things not completely still and silent in the room. 

I blink at the screen, the strain of looking at it becoming irritating, and glance at the edge of the table I'm sitting at. 

It appears the wood is rotting on the edges, and as I peer closer, I squint, wondering if it's my eyes playing tricks on me or if something is moving in the wood... 

"Mel?" 

I yelp, nearly falling out of my seat as I jump backwards at a cold touch. 

Esther is standing over my shoulder, one smooth hand barely touching it. I laugh nervously and she smiles in return. 

I clear my throat, trying not to steal a glance at the wood again. It's hard. 

"S-sorry" , I stutter, heart still hammering away. 

I feel light-headed. The hand drums absently on my arm and then comes away as she circles to my left. 

The woman smiles again, perfectly-white teeth standing out starkly in the dim lighting of the kitchen. 

"Not to worry, I only came to check on you, dear!" , she chirps, moving around the table to lean on the counter facing me. 

She gives me a concerned look. 

“You should rest your eyes, Mel, it would do you well to get them off that screen for a spell.”

I nod, unthinking, and before I can conjure up a verbal response, she smiles at me again and leaves, footsteps quiet and concise on the tile floor, and I wait several moments after she’s gone before I push back my chair and close the laptop. 

I'm done working for the day. 

⚉⚉⚉ 

It's now been two weeks since Coraline left for her trip. 

I receive a postcard, a class picture of the students, and see her slightly sunburned, freckled face sticking her tongue out at the camera. I smile to myself, happy that she's having fun.

I finally decide to write to her. She needs to know that I was right about the sunscreen, after all. That rebel...

As I root around in the study for a spare envelope so I can write the letter, my hand brushes against something soft.

Puzzled, I feel around, trying to determine what it could be. 

My skin touches fur. 

Instantly my arm is yanked back, and as I prepare to kick the rat away from me, I freeze. 

It’s no rat.

Whatever I've touched is far too large to be a rat.

I feel suddenly quite cold. 

Peeling back the newspapers and envelopes it's under, I gently reach out a second time, hand shaking slightly.

 _No._

He's still warm, weak little inhales the only thing indicating he's alive. I gingerly pick up the cat, cradling him like a newborn infant. 

“Buddy?” , I whisper to him. 

He weighs almost nothing, has he always been this thin? I find myself crying. 

And then I see his face, and have to stop myself from dropping him in horror. 

_His eyes are missing._

There's no excessive bleeding that I can see, but the sockets look _raw_ , as if they'd just been cleaned out moments ago. 

My hands twitch.

The bile in my throat is painful, too much, and I'm forced to set him down on a box before I turn away and vomit. 

My mind is racing. How did this happen? Why didn't I hear a struggle?

Did some wack-job _neighbor_ do this to him? 

I try to pull myself up, but only sink back down, struggling not to pass out. I'm way too shaken up, I know, but I'm powerless for the moment. I tremble violently. 

It's so terrible, so vile, and I can't possibly imagine how it could have happened. I can hardly believe it.

What am I supposed to _do_? 

I chance another look at the miserable thing. The cat sneezes quietly from the box he's on, shivering and jerking like a broken wind-up doll. The absence of his eyes makes my heart skip as I look at him.

God…

I scramble, coming to my senses. He needs help. 

How far is the veterinarian from here? I’ll need a towel…

I fumble for my phone. There are black spots forming in my field of view. I feel dizzy again. 

Make a call. I need... I need to call... 

I only faintly feel the floor coming up to hit me as I collapse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉
> 
> You're going to find out what that one particularly strange tag means next chapter. As always, please leave feedback, or kudos if you enjoyed! 
> 
> -Kat


	4. Fine Dining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

### Four: Fine Dining

### 

 

It’s impossibly cold and my vision is dark. I don't shiver, though. _Everything_ is cold here. You get used to it. 

_____________________________________

...Oh. Another dream.

I open my eyes. 

I'm in bed, I'm in bed and there's something very important I'm forgetting. 

“What was it, now?” , I murmur dizzily to myself, pawing around for my cell, when I notice the other figure in the room. 

I suppress a gasp as I notice the housekeeper, sitting neatly in the chair at the side of the bed.

"You're up" , Esther observes.

I nod, not paying attention, trying to gather my thoughts. What was I forgetting, again? My stomach growls, as if in reply.

She giggles at the noise. "Oh, you poor dear, you must be hungry– why don't I make you a nice hot bowl of stew?" , she offers, standing up and placing a hand on my forehead. 

She tilts her head, smiling, the black buttons gleaming in the mid-afternoon light. 

I mumble an affirmation sleepily and stand up to follow her, head lolling a little as I rise. I look at my feet uselessly for a few beats until I raise my head again, meaning to ask her what I'm forgetting, but the woman has already gone. 

Shrugging, I drag my feet out of my daughter's room, my limbs like blocks of ice still trying to thaw. I must have slept on them wrong.

As I shuffle my way into the kitchen, head still pounding, I pause briefly in the doorway.

Esther stands in front of a pot on the stove, humming, the notes drawn-out and soothing. It's quite like a lullaby...

I take a seat, arms clenched in a vain attempt to warm myself. 

A small nagging voice butts its head into my thoughts, telling me, yet again, that I've forgotten something. 

Normally, I'd feel dread at the notion; it most often means I've forgotten to submit a paper or need to return a call. 

It's frustrating; for the life of me, I just can't seem to remember what I need to recall.

But before I can get there, Esther sets down a bowl in front of me, pats my arm, and turns to ladle stew into her own bowl. 

Which is interesting, because it's the first time, I'm certain, that I've seen her eat at the same time as I have.

And it's never struck me as weird before, but it does now, momentarily. 

_Maybe she's... religious, or something_? 

I find that I'm too hungry and cold to give it any more consideration, so I just start eating. 

It's... amazing, and strange, because I've never tasted anything like it before. The beef tastes... not like beef. 

I’m not even sure I’d bought any recently, in fact.

I chew the pieces of meat for a long time, savoring the unique texture. It's almost gamey, a bit stringy, but very tender.

“Mm.” , I mumble through my second spoonful. She laughs.

I finish the first bowl and eagerly have seconds, the housekeeper happily obliging me, spending the next half hour chatting with me about how the rain is good for certain plants and about what sort of flowers would grow best here. 

She only pauses occasionally, humming a tune, cleaning up, or brushing small black hairs off of her apron. 

Or, more likely, they’re stray strings from one of the sweaters she wears.

I inquire her about her culinary training, if there was any-- she tells me she learned everything she knows from her mother.

How nice...thinking of my daughter, I know she'd appreciate good food for once; I'm really only a mediocre chef, I'm well aware. I can’t wait for her to meet this woman.

⚉⚉⚉

It's only a day later, and I feel healthier already. Whatever cold or flu I'd had is long gone.

Could have been the stew, I'd certainly believe it. Esther has to be some sort of miracle healer. 

For once, I grant myself an off day from work. I've already prewritten my next paper, and besides, the rain's taken an all-too-rare break from soaking the forest and area around the Pink Palace. I'm grateful to see the sun again. 

I look for Esther before I go, planning on asking her along for a walk. Of course, she's nowhere to be found, so I go on my own. Oh well.

On my way down the steps, I'm greeted by the two older ladies living below us.

I go to say hello— because I'm polite to everyone, even dingbats like those two, but then I see the third person, a cop. 

His hat is held in his hands, and his thick black mustache moves up and down when he talks. The accent is foreign; he's Swedish, I think.

His small eyes are red, as if he's been crying recently, or hasn't slept enough, or both... I wait until he leaves and drives off before I approach the women. 

The blonde, bustier woman—Ms... Farce? Fitzgerald? I never can remember which is which— is speaking so quickly it might as well have been in tongues, and the shorter, rounder woman... Spink, that's right... is sobbing loudly.

I hold my arms around myself with uncertainty, not wanting to disturb them. It's only when I get close that I see the two tiny boxes in the short woman's arms. 

They're labeled _Angus_ and _Jacque V_. Did a family member pass? I clear my throat. 

"Hey, is everything oka-" 

"OOOHH, my poor angels!" , the shorter woman wails, apparently not taking notice of my presence. 

The taller woman is frowning sadly, rubbing her friend's arm soothingly and murmuring "It's all right, April" .

I try again, this time addressing the blonde. 

"Is she okay?" , I ask softly, careful not to speak too sharply for fear of upsetting them.

I put on my best neighborly smile, but I probably don’t look that genuine. 

_I’m_ not an actress, after all. 

I hope they've forgotten about that astrology talk we were meant to have...

The taller woman shimmies to me, small feet doing their best to support her in the heels she wears. She sighs deeply.

"It's _dreadful_. First we lost Desmond the Second, and now two more have been taken too early. I fear poor April will never recover." 

I blink in understanding. "I'm so sorry for your losses, were you close with them?" , I query. 

She nods vigorously. "Extremely. Those dogs were as dear to us as children." 

_Oh— just dogs_.

Not that it isn't still sad, but I'd been worried that three _people_ had died all around the same time, seemingly. 

This is slightly less worrying. Sad as it is, it's better dogs than people. 

I smile somberly at the retired actress, thinking. After a moment, a new thought comes to me, and it may be slightly rude to ask, but ask I must. 

"If I may, Miss, how did they die? Old age?" 

As she turns to return to the other woman, the blonde shakes her head, gravely. Slowly. There is a slight chill in the air, and I'm not sure if it's the cold or something else. 

"They were mauled to death" , the old woman says, whispering the last three words.

She turns to leave, and then back to me.

"Their _eyes_..." 

She sounds so torn up that I just nod and let the pair go back inside, fixed in place.

Eyes? 

Wasn't there something... what _was_ it?

There's something familiar in that statement, something like déjà vu, but as I stand there, straining to remember, I’m snapped out of it by a muffled sob from the downstairs apartment. 

Needless to say I don't feel like taking a walk anymore. 

It's one week until my daughter returns. With each day, Esther makes more delicious meals, and I wrap up several big projects for my employer, still feeling a little insubstantial in comparison. 

Thoughts of nervousness fade, and I’m still on edge, but for different reasons. I don’t think about the subject of dating.

I don't look at the kitchen table, but I suspect the wood is too rotten to recover. 

I can never bear to check. 

I do all my work in the study now, amidst piles of boxes and stacks of paper heaped impossibly high.

The mornings begin to feel off, and once or twice I set my alarm to wake me up early, just to get up before she does. 

But she’s always waiting for me in the kitchen, breakfast ready as if she knows exactly when I'll be down to eat it. 

I sit down and enjoy it all the same, never growing tired of her cooking. It's too good to want anything else. 

I stop leaving out dishes of milk on the porch. In fact, I'm not even sure why I ever did.

Perhaps it was for the wildlife? Bunnies? Field mice? I can't recall.

How unlike me, I don't like rats in the house. No one does... I can't imagine why I'd ever risk attracting them. 

During this third week, things begin to change. 

It's small, at first, and I wonder if I'm imagining it.

It's moments where I'm reading a book on the couch and feel eyes on me where there are, literally, none. 

But I always turn and see her standing in the doorway.

She doesn't smile anymore when I spot her, but how could she? She's blind.

Sometimes, I'll get up in the night to get a drink of water, and I'll swear I see a figure in the far corners of my vision, shadowing me, watching me, saying nothing.

But of course I'm only imagining that. 

Esther sleeps like everyone else, and I won't... no. I won't give in to the irrational fear and go check her bedroom. 

One afternoon, I find a spiderweb in Coraline's room. I'd only just walked in, and nearly right into it.

I leap backwards in terror, shrieking, stopping outside her room and staring, unbelieving, at the godawful _size_ of it. 

It hangs from the ceiling, touching the floor, almost as large as I am.

It’s scarily close to my size, actually. The worst part is that I can’t seem to locate the probably massive, probably venomous spider that wove it. Great. 

But it doesn't matter, because as I regain my breath and turn around, the woman I'm about to call out for is already there, smiling broadly.

She places a thin hand on my arm. 

"Trouble, dear? Whatever's the matter?" 

I can swear she looks taller. 

I point at the web, not daring to venture back in. "It's... that", I breathe, the mere thought of the thing that created it sending shivers up my spine. 

She merely smiles reassuringly, as if to say "Say no more", walking right into my daughter's room without hesitation.

I linger, worried, but she only wags a finger at me, waving me away. 

"I'll clean this up, Melissa, why don't you go downstairs and try to relax? I'll make tea." 

I go downstairs and try to relax. It doesn't work.

Something... isn't right. 

I've known this, and yet I haven't done anything. I've forgotten something. 

What was it?

What _was_ it? 

I can't handle the silence anymore. Not the silence right _now_ , but the silence that's been with me for a while. 

I can't look at the walls, how the black, moldy edges have been steadily worsening. 

How the paint peels the most in the kitchen, where I do most of my working, and the least in the parlor, where I almost never go. 

And I can't sit at the kitchen table, afraid it'll break if I touch it, the soft wood falling away and revealing what's inside.

I get up from the couch, the quiet deafening, my heart going a mile a minute, and walk briskly to the stairs.

I go up, trying to be quiet, trying to be small and unseen, and reach the top. 

I'm freezing cold again, a ball of ice in my gut. In my mind's eye, I see snow, I see frosted glass, and I see my own reflection, shivering, almost devoid of color, pallid.

It's so cold, where am I? How did I get here? 

"Melissa?" 

My eyes snap open and I find myself sitting, curled up, against the wall, with the housekeeper bending down over me. 

Like a startled insect I scramble to my feet in a panic, for the first time in weeks feeling more awake than I've ever been.

Esther is quiet, her expression difficult to gauge with her lack of eyes.

"Are you alright? You seemed to be having some sort of attack..." , she murmurs, placing a hand on my head, feeling my temperature.

I shiver, uncertain of how to reply. She sounds concerned, but it doesn't comfort me like it normally would. My eyes analyze her features. 

Her cheekbones look more pronounced, her face somehow... _changed_.

Has she lost weight? Perhaps gotten sick? She hasn't _acted_ as if she were sick...

My thoughts aren't making sense right now. Nothing makes sense right now. 

"Dear, I've taken care of the little development in your daughter's bedroom, in case you're still worried. It's all gone", she tells me softly, as if that was all of what was off about this. 

Ugh, what's wrong with me right now? I don’t even know why I’m so tense, to be honest...

I feel a hand closing around my arm, tugging ever-so-slightly. 

I comply, despite myself, following her hesitantly to the room. She's kept her word; the web is gone entirely, the bed untouched.

"Did... you check..." , I stutter, wanting more than anything to be out of the room.

God, I hope we don’t have an infestation or anything.

Esther snorts, surprisingly- she never does that. 

I almost want to laugh, but I'm too rigid. She throws up a hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Of course. There's absolutely nothing under the bed. Dear little Coraline won't be getting bitten by anything on my watch, don't you fret!" , she soothes, tapping a long nail absently on the bedpost. 

"Now come along, Mel, I'll make you that tea. It'll calm your nerves." 

The woman moves past me fluidly, heading down the hall and down the stairs. I shiver again. 

Sometimes she does things so familiar, which makes no logical sense, of course. But sometimes I feel as if I've met her. Or, perhaps, as if she's met me. 

I stand, unmoving, in my daughter's room. There isn't a trace of the spider or its web.

It's as if it was never here, as she'd promised. She'd taken care of that fast. 

Ugh. Why am I so unnerved by this? She’s always been efficient.

Maybe it’s a housekeeper thing? It's probably a housekeeper thing.

But something far more more concerning sticks out in my mind as I make my way numbly down the stairs, the abrupt shriek of an already whistling kettle nearly making me lose my balance. 

I'd never told her my daughter's name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉
> 
> Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays! 
> 
> -Kat


	5. Lucid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some people control the dreams they have when asleep, but others experience the opposite. 
> 
> This is called _sleep paralysis_ , and it's a bit like when you wake from a dream only to find yourself in another, but this time, you really are awake. 
> 
> This time, you're awake, but you can't move, and you're almost always not alone. 
> 
> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

### Five: Lucid 

### 

Dread is a curious thing. It could happen before a test in school, even if you’ve studied diligently, even if you’re sure you’ll pass. It could happen before a thunderstorm, if you’re afraid of the sound of it. It could happen when one expects to hear bad news. 

But sometimes, dread doesn’t come all at once. 

Sometimes, it builds up, like water against a dam, and when that dam breaks, you’re forced to face whatever it is you’re dreading.

Or perhaps not, in my case. 

My dread builds, yes, but how can the dam break when I don’t yet know what it’s made of?

Subtle feelings in my gut, a small voice in my head, a twinge of fear when there should, reasonably, be none. Tiny details, and yet they mean everything to me. 

Logically, they have no reason to be there. I ask myself why they are, but receive no answers. Why should I feel such dread in my own house? I’m no longer alone. 

Solitude, which I’d feared for so very long. I’d been afraid I’d be forever doomed to it. And now, when I’ve finally some company besides my daughter, something feels off. 

How had Esther known her name? A coincidence? 

Could it have been as simple as that? They do happen all the time.

More frequently, lately, if I’m being honest… but of course that could never actually _mean_ anything. 

...Right? 

It doesn’t matter… it can’t matter. What do I even suspect? So what if Esther does know Coraline’s name, maybe she… saw it somewhere. So what? 

But haven’t I had glimpses? 

Moments where she’s silent during meals, where I glance up from my food now and again because I feel as if, somehow, she’s… 

Staring.

No… of course not, she _can’t_ stare. She doesn’t have… eyes. 

Which is peculiar, and I’m not one to poke fun at the disabled, by any means. It’s not that at all. What I mean is that Esther is _different_ , somehow, different in a way that’s hard to put into words. Lacking eyes, yes, but past that, past the pleasantries and talents and doting nature, she’s different.

Different, when she seems to know things. Different when she’s always awake before I am, even when I set my alarm for 5 AM just to beat her to the kitchen. Different when she smiles, because she never frowns. Never. Perhaps in joking, but never genuinely. 

And different, perhaps most strangely of all, because she _looks_ different with each passing day. 

At first, I think my eyesight is failing me, which is disheartening, but ultimately more believable than what appears to be happening. As each day goes by, the house feels colder. She feels colder.

The rooms, usually bright and lively when she occupies them, fade to grey, the light somehow dimmer, her face looking less soft, and more gaunt. I want to ask if she’s sick, but her cheery demeanor never falters. She doesn’t sneeze, or cough, or get the chills. 

If anything, Esther is more chipper than ever with each new dawn, and as much as I play along, something isn’t as it should be. 

Am I... just imagining things? 

⚉⚉⚉

 

The days feel like I’m half awake, and gradually, I feel less so, as if I’m only dreaming.

But I don’t want to dream. I want to wake up.

Some nights, I have nightmares about being in a snowstorm, which I don’t understand, because I love the snow. I wake up feeling cold and helpless, like an infant left abandoned. I feel pathetic. But I never voice this, not to Esther. I don’t want to tell her, I feel as if she already knows. And yet does nothing.

I miss Coraline, not just because she’s been away for three weeks now, but because I’m feeling more and more distant… I just want to feel at home again. I feel like an intruder in my own home, trapped, though I can leave, I suppose, at any moment. 

But there are moments, as I’ve said, moments where I feel as if I’m under supervision, like a rebellious child with protective parents. Watched. 

But who could watch me? My only roommate has no eyes.

 

⚉⚉⚉

 

It’s the day before Coraline returns, finally, and I frequent her room, try to tidy up a bit. I never do find the necklace she left, but for the life of me I can’t seem to remember how I lost it in the first place. I hope she won’t be too angry with me. 

Esther asks a second time if I’m sure that I don’t want her to renovate Coraline’s bedroom, which strikes me as odd, because Esther’s never really persisted like that.

If I say "No thank you, I’ve had enough to eat" , she drops the subject. If I politely decline a walk in the woods, or don’t feel like clearing out the rat nest ...which she’d told me didn’t exist only weeks ago, anyway… she drops the subject. I have no idea why it takes her two tries to drop it this time. 

I should be excited for Coraline’s return, but I’m just worried. And the worst thing about it is that I don’t know exactly _why_.

Dread truly is a curious thing. 

_____________________________________

I pretend to be asleep as my friends sing songs to pass the time. As much fun as I've had in Hawaii, I'm too tired out to join in. Tired, sunburned, and ready to be back in my ancient house, with my mud-hating mom and weird cat and weird neighbors that I absolutely adore. I miss them all terribly. 

Frankly, I'm not even sure that it’s legal for a school trip, no matter how heavily chaperoned, to be a month long, but I'm sure not going to blab about it. 

“Alright, we’re here!” , shouts the bus driver, a kindly old man with a limp (and a surprising knack for puns). I thank him when I get off. 

I step off the bus. I don't see my mom’s car, but instead see, to my amazement, Wybie Lovat, standing awkwardly on the sidewalk. He waves enthusiastically when he sees me. 

“Hey, Jonesie!” , he calls, looking like he’d rather not be in the midst of so many people.

I'll bet he's never even seen a public school, lucky him...

He waves me over, and I see Mrs. Lovat in the driver’s seat, beaming at me. 

I rush to Wybie, embracing him and then shoving him playfully out of the way to board the minivan. We both giggle. Mrs. Lovat starts up the engine, and we watch the school disappear as we drive away, back to our homes. 

 

⚉⚉⚉

 

I wave to Wybie and his grandma as they drive away. The Pink Palace is familiar and foreign to me all at once as I ascend the steps to the door and knock once, nearly twice, but the door swings inward before I can knock again.

It’s my mother. “Welcome home, love” , she says, and I hurriedly run into her open arms, giggling. The house smells like food, for once, and not just takeout-- real food. I wonder briefly what Mom’s been up to in the past four weeks. 

“Have you been _cooking_?” , I laugh, sunburned cheeks still quirked up in a slightly painful smile. Not waiting for an answer, I drop my travel bag and race to the kitchen, the smell of real food too enticing to ignore. 

The kitchen looks almost brand-new, the tiles polished and gleaming with the warm light of the room. _What a nice surprise to come home to_ , I think, and skip back to the dining room, where Mom passes me on her way to the kitchen. 

I take a seat at the table, hardly containing my excitement about the trip, questions about the house, and the urge to give Mom another hug. It’s been way too long since we’ve been together. 

Mom re-enters the room a couple of minutes later, bearing a large plate with roasted chicken on it, and another with an abundance of mashed potatoes. It smells heavenly, to my delight, but also somehow like something I can’t quite place. Sort of like déjà vu.

“That smells great, Mom” , I say, hunger the only thing present in my head at the moment, and Mom doesn’t say anything, just smiles in reply. She must have just woken up awhile ago. She rubs her eyes, scrunching her nose up as if annoyed by something, but then sits down neatly in one of the chairs. 

Mom smiles encouragingly at me, and I'm about to ask if she’s already eaten, but then I notice a black string around her neck. 

The weathered yarn, which I remember tying myself to always keep the key close to me, hangs down, the black key itself unseen beneath her white sweater. 

I gesture to it. “Oh, my necklace, I guess I forgot that when I left.”

Mom glances down at it, smiles again, and reaches for it silently, grasping the string and removing it slowly from her neck. 

I extend my own hand to accept the key when I look at her fingernails. 

They’re red. 

Dark red, longer than I've ever seen them. 

I jerk back my hand. 

That's not Mom.

With that, the _other_ mother blinks, and Mom's pretty green eyes are gone, only to be replaced with the black buttons I hoped I'd never see again. 

I bolt from my chair and out of the room. The other mother doesn’t stop me. I dash up the stairs.

“Mom!” , I yell, adrenaline making my voice wobble. “MOM!” 

_Where is she?!_

The first room I look in, my own bedroom, looks more like a giant spider nest. Thick, opaque webs cover nearly every surface, some stretching from floor to ceiling in massive pillars of no thank-you.

I tear my eyes from the sight of it and move on, cantering back down the hallway and into Mom's room. 

It’s dark, and I get the feeling it’d be better to keep quiet in here. 

“Mom?” , I whisper, wiping at my watery eyes in the darkness. There’s no time to cry right now. 

I receive no answer, tiptoeing through the deadly silent room, eventually coming to the side of the bed partially illuminated by the window. 

A dark figure lies still on the bed, and I want to laugh for joy, but Mom doesn’t move. _Is she breathing?_

Worried, I place a hand on her arm. It’s warm, not cold and limp, thankfully, but I know something’s still not right. 

And then I blink in surprise, because the lamp’s just come on from across the room. It isn’t much light, but it’s enough to see what’s going on. 

Mom sleeps on her back, twitching a finger from time to time or muttering incoherent words as is her normal fashion most nights.

Except that it isn’t quite normal. Except she's stuck fast to the mattress by wispy white webs, as if her sheets had melted as she slept there. 

I reach a hand out to break the strands, but I'm stopped midway. 

The thin, slender hand and talon-like fingernails of the other mother are clasped around my arm in a cold grip. I can feel the coldness radiating off of her as she lurks behind me. 

“Let go of me!” , I shout, whirling to face her. She grins.

“Don’t go touching what you shouldn’t be touching, dear.” 

The other mother removes her hand from my arm, but I know it would be pointless to try and wake Mom again. While alive and otherwise untouched, she’s not going to rouse easily, especially not under the other mother’s watchful gaze. 

But then I notice how _pale_ my real mother looks. 

Almost as if she’s fading away.

“No!”, I say, but my arm is restrained yet again, try as I may to wrench it free. "You're going to kill her!"

The other mother only smiles. I want to lash out at the monstrous woman, but then I stop, take a breath.

“Take me instead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉
> 
> Do forgive the hiatus there, I've been writing the whole time, but I've also been reworking and redoing chapters as well, so it takes longer to post since I only post when I'm completely happy with a chapter. 
> 
> -Kat


	6. Dreamscape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions, decisions.
> 
> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

### Six: Dreamscape

Everything I do, I do for survival. 

Not to suggest that I don’t enjoy winning at my own game, or breaking the rules— watching the players fail and struggle is my sole source of happiness. 

Of course, not everything I do is a game, but I’d rather play along than be left with my thoughts... after all, I’ve done terrible things. 

I suppose it’s wrong that I’ve _enjoyed_ them. 

The first child to come to me was a small girl, carefree and eager to accept the world I’d given her. 

I’d loved her, at first, truly loved her as if she were my own. I’d been entirely alone before then. 

However, I grew sick of her in time. She bored me.

I told her stories, created living things out of dust, asking for nothing in return but her love. 

And yet where did it get me? Ignored, taken for granted. 

That girl never cared for me, never as much as she could her real mother. I saw that and knew I had to _make_ her my family.

Perhaps then, she would see how much I loved her. 

Perhaps then, she could accept me as her mother. 

I was wrong. 

When she accepted the buttons, she lost her light. She woke up from the naive stupor she’d been in all this time, growing to hate and even fear me.

All I had ever wanted was for her to love me as I’d so loved her. It was a shame her life was wasted. 

She faded, over time, refusing to eat, unable to sleep, until one day she tried to slip past me, back to her world— and withered into dust before I could catch her. 

Her soul, tethered here by the unbreakable connection of the buttons in her eyes, could never leave. 

As a result, she tormented me constantly, lamenting her anguish, lashing out, until finally I fashioned her a room of her own, locking her away behind a mirror so I could be rid of her. 

It was the only way. 

The others came and went, but their stays were shorter. The boy was shier, more hesitant, but both he and the girl with braided hair succumbed to the temptations of a better world. 

How foolish of them... Bitterly, I watched them fade as the first had, knowing neither would come to love me. I was desperate for connection, but both children simply died, just as the one before. 

They, too, faded, were left behind and unable to be free of this small world, and ended their journeys exactly where the first girl had: in that room. 

Until Coraline. 

Before Coraline, I’d never been denied before. Yes, the game continued, and I was challenged, but I didn’t bet on being cheated and escaped from so easily. My expectations were my downfall. 

After that, I was scared, truly afraid for the first time I can recall since the children began coming to me. I could scarcely remember what it was like before they’d come.

I’d grown to rely on them over time, their brief time with me my only breaks away from the eternal solitude of what is essentially my prison. Without a new soul to occupy me, I feared I would wither, just as they had, my own soul finally disappearing into nothingness. It would have been the end that I deserved, if I’m being honest. 

But I didn’t _want_ to die. 

When Coraline escaped, severing my hand, I concentrated all of my strength into it. I felt it come back to life, I saw the real world through its view for the first time in centuries.

As enchanting as real air and real stars were, however, I had to follow the girl. 

I needed that key. 

But she had had outside help, which I hadn’t counted on, and so the part of me that was free, for the smallest of moments, was doomed to fall into a near-bottomless well, and my sight left me yet again. 

And then it returned, my hand, weak and broken, of course, but it crawled out, returned the key to my possession, and I pieced myself back together. 

Now, here I stand, with my purpose nearly fulfilled, on the verge of completing the cycle yet again. 

So close to having Coraline, forever, and I may not even need her soul for a good half century, what with having her mother’s perfectly good one right here. 

However, in this instance, the process feels... different. 

Every time I consume a soul, I absorb some of the experiences of the host.

Some memories are joyous and filled with excitement, and other times, they are dull, or sad, or even frustrating. 

Some memories are frightening, even to me. But each one makes me more whole. Each new vision and each new era in human history gives me insights about the world outside, and allows me to blend in seamlessly for each new child. 

As she lies dormant in her chamber, I drain the thoughts, experiences, and life-force from her body and mind. All she knows is the hazy dreamscape I provide her with in the meantime. 

Were she to discover her true state, she would awaken. 

She would awaken and reverse every ounce of the extraction process, weakening me severely, and this is why I cannot allow Coraline to try and do so. 

But now, with Mel, with this... _mother_ , her thoughts and memories are... different.

Even as I lock the girl in her room, as I wait for her mother’s soul to become part of mine, the memories I am seeing are troubling me deeply, for I see myself through her eyes, feel her feelings towards me as if they are my own. 

They are surprisingly… warm. 

Well, of course it is typical of a raw emotion to be _warm_. I do not expect the same dull coldness that I experience in my own existence.

But Mel, she gives me a mirror to glance into, for once; she lets me feel things I never would have imagined could be felt by something like me. 

This is the first time I’ve ever extracted the soul of an adult, as well. The difference is... vast.

The emotions are complex, not childish and easy to cater to. I find myself enjoying them… perhaps a bit more than I ought to. 

And then come new emotions.

My own— my own dread, stemming not only from hers, but from my own knowledge that Mel will eventually die when this is over. 

I feel frustration, because who else has felt these things towards me? And for no clear reason! 

I am nothing like a human being! 

I am... unsightly to behold, I am monstrous. My appearance to her was a mere illusion to better blend in with her kind. 

And I do not forge friendships, either. I _destroy_ human lives. 

And yet, the emotion that I see, from her perspective... 

I realize that it is love. Or was, at least. 

Love, where I have failed to receive it from a single soul I’ve taken. 

Where I have mimicked it easily to a child, but have failed to fool an adult. 

Love, where now ironically it is too late, useless. 

Coraline, trapped in her room, cries almost daily, and the more of her mother's soul I take, the more I grow to hate the sound, where it had never before irked me in this way. 

The sobbing changes from a mild annoyance to a terrible pain, pain that I can see myself feeling, if I imagined it… empathy. How bizarre. 

Humankind is truly an enigma. 

On the third day, I enter Mel’s room to watch her. 

To my displeasure, her complexion is gray and lifeless, and momentarily I fear she’s not alive, but then I see the weak intake of a breath, and let out a sigh. 

I’m… dreading something, I realize. 

“What is this?” , I implore her, but she doesn’t say anything. 

“What are you doing to me? Answer me!” 

Again, she does not respond, and I know very well why. It’s my own fault. 

She’d been... my friend. 

I am going to kill the only friend I’ve ever made. 

I sink into a chair with some difficulty— having too many limbs, at the present moment, to sit comfortably. Mel continues to sleep, but her fading color makes me sick. 

It’s difficult to watch. 

...Oh, what _am_ I mulling on about? If I released her, I’d simply have to take Coraline. I can’t be giving in to the sentiment that always inevitably comes with feeding. 

Besides, these feelings should be gone when it’s over and done with. 

Revenge aside, I am doing this to survive, as I always have. As I always will. 

After all, I’d been having visions of the children yet-to-come. Surely that means that their demise was necessary? I’ve quite forgotten what I’d been doing… what I’d been, even, before they’d come to me. 

Perhaps I’d never existed before that at all? 

In that case, no matter how I came into existence, it’s just the way that things have to be. 

I don’t want to consider that I could be doing something wrong. 

⚉⚉⚉

It’s been too long for me to be stuck in my bedroom, alone.

Well, alone if you aren’t counting the toys, and the rats, and the other mother, who comes each morning and evening to bring food. 

It’s probably delicious, I know, but I don’t want it. I hardly have an appetite. 

How can I, when Mom is helpless and dying only a few rooms away? How can I eat the food that my worst nightmare makes for me? 

And besides, what if it’s poisoned? Or infested with beetles? Ugh… 

...Although, I guess, if the other mother had wanted me dead, she’d simply dispose of me and be done with it. 

The bedroom door, as normal and wooden as it appears, is sturdy and refuses to break, even after I slam myself into it a few times, crying all the while. Not sad tears, but angry tears.

The door doesn’t even scratch. The windows do not break. The walls have no secret openings here. 

It seems escape is impossible. 

This morning, however, is not the same as the rest. It’s the fourth day in the room, and I awaken with a jolt, the sheets cold and my hair tangled and frizzy. 

The door is open.

No figure looms in the doorway, nor in the hallway, as I come to find out upon exiting the room. 

_Could this be a trap_? 

I'm too worried and upset to care. 

Mom's room, also opened and unguarded, is still awful to behold, webs clinging to every surface imaginable, and yet, the sunlight streams in, for once, the window cracked open a fraction. 

Mom lies still on the bed, and I feel myself tearing up again, taking her warm, soft hand in… oh. 

She’s _not_ dead. 

Far from it, it would seem, because I look at her face, how the skin is vibrant, almost glowing with health, and I furrow my brow, because how could this have happened? Only days ago, she’d looked terribly sick. 

And then I look past her, my real, human mom, and see, in a silent heap, the unconscious body of the other mother. 

The thin woman’s face and upper body lie on the edge of the bed, one bony hand resting over Mom's heart. 

As inhuman as the other mother normally looks, she looks far worse now, but her expression is one that seems to be quieter, calmer for once. 

_She’s let us go_ , I think, gently taking Mom's hand in my own. 

The woman stirs, sighs, and as she begins to wake up, the other mother’s hand slips from its place and falls onto the mattress, the last bit of color fleeing her form as she crumples softly to the floor. 

⚉⚉⚉

Have you ever been so cold that you get hot flashes? 

Everything feels electric, and I’m not sure if I’m awake anymore, because nothing looks real… the windows are frosted over... 

And then I open my eyes, because there's a small hand holding my own. The world seems to be back in order.

...Except that I’m stuck to the mattress, and Coraline is standing over me, crying, and I have so many questions but I’d rather just give her a hug. I do. 

She’s disheveled, hair messy, but she’s real. Of this I’m certain. 

“Coraline?” , I cough, not expecting my throat to be so sore. 

She just holds me tighter, and I let her. I’ve missed her. 

“Did I sleep in?” 

Coraline shakes her head. “You were in a coma, I think.” 

“ _What_?” 

“The other mother… she _was_ going to kill you. I guess she didn’t.” 

The other mother, as in… from my daughter's _dream_ all that time ago? 

I think of Coraline’s drawings. The blacked-out eyes. 

“Oh” , I say, shivering. 

I’d known something hadn’t felt right about her. But... had she failed to take my life, or chosen not to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉
> 
> If you’ve read this far, even as a guest, please do consider leaving a quick comment just to let me know you like it (or don’t), or even to ask any questions! Kudos are lovely as well and I give a thank-you to the readers who’ve been keeping up with this story! Feel free to let me know what you’re curious about, your thoughts, or anything else!


	7. Familiar Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _...For three he plays, for three he strays, and for three he stays._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _-Shakespeare_
> 
>    
> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉  
> _____________________________

### Seven: Familar Face

I close my laptop and rub my eyes blearily, heart rate spiking at the abrupt and rapid stomping of child-sized feet. Coraline bolts down the stairs, slides unceremoniously onto the kitchen tiles on oversized socks, and nearly falls over. 

“Slept through your alarms again, huh?” 

She’s too out of breath for a snappy remark. I hand her a plate of —now cold— toast, stifling a giggle. 

Coraline’s had late starts like this all the time lately, but at least she’s stopped ‘testing’ me with personal questions and the like. 

I mean, I’d be paranoid, too, if my own mother could be an imposter and turn against me at any moment, though, so I can’t really blame her; the whole ordeal with Esther wasn’t a pleasant one for either of us.

Not for Coraline, anyway. I’d actually quite liked the woman in the beginning... 

I wave to her as she climbs into Ms. Lovat’s minivan, returning the elderly woman’s smile and taking a moment after their departure to appreciate the rare bit of sunshine I get to experience. 

I’m glad I’d convinced Ms. Lovat to let Wybie try out a public school, he seems to like it from what I’ve heard. 

Plus, he can now pester Coraline for _six extra hours_ a day for the low, low price of her sanity. 

Clutching my arms at the sudden chill, I head inside. 

The November cold is finally setting in, which means I’ll probably be asleep for a good portion of it— low temperatures tend to make me sluggish. 

And I don’t fight it, because that means I get an excuse to sit on the couch and watch old movies when I’m not working.

Or attempting to cook. Or tending to guests. 

The latter two of which I’ve been doing more often since the Lovats started coming over. 

I’ve been trying to cook for them as well, mostly sticking rigidly to recipes off of the Internet. 

I seem to be getting better— I only burned a meatloaf _once_ , after all. 

And anyway, I don’t mind feeding extra people once in awhile. They’re a lovely little family of two, just like us. 

Well...

 _Almost_ like us. 

 

⚉⚉⚉

 

Coraline has a wild story of her day ready for me each time she comes home— I’m inclined to believe that they’re mostly fiction or exaggeration, but damn, are they entertaining to listen to. 

I’m just glad she’s finally enjoying school, or at least isn’t hating it. Yet. 

One night, after the relentless begging of my daughter, I give in and let her friend sleep over, with his grandma’s permission. 

“Am I gonna regret this?” 

Coraline scoffs. “Nope, we’re good! We’re great! Thanks! Bye!” 

I don’t even get the chance to ask where Wybie’s going to sleep before I’m rushed out of her room. Oh well. 

To my surprise— and delight— Coraline and Wybie aren’t up all night. 

I check on the pair around midnight, unable to sleep, and find them peacefully strewn across the bed and floor, respectively. Smiling, I close the door, but not before a small shape slips past me and into the hallway. 

“Rats, again?” , I mutter. 

Wait. _No..._

My spine stiffens as I whip around to see... 

Nothing. 

I hear no clicking of irregular footsteps, nor any scratching of rodent feet. I certainly don’t see any ominous shadows on the walls. 

Clutching my chest in an effort to steady myself, I shake my head, beginning to head for my bedroom. 

...And nearly shriek at the sight of a lithe black cat perched neatly atop my comforter. 

It merely blinks and begins to clean itself, and I laugh, wondering what on earth I was so scared for. 

“Been a while, little buddy”, I laugh breathily, calming down a bit. 

He looks the same as when I last remember seeing him, which was... when? 

The bathroom? When he was attacked— no.  
He’s free of injury now, save for a small white mark I spot on his face.

Weird, I’d never noticed it before. 

I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment before I lie back and try to get comfortable. The cat remains next to me, purring ever-so-softly, and I don’t even register the moment I fall asleep. 

 

⚉⚉⚉

 

There’s someone in the room when I wake up. 

I can’t move. 

_I can’t move!_

God, not this again...

Just as I’m about to try and force my eyes shut, the figure in the corner lets out a horrible shriek, and my heart all but stops beating. 

A deep voice chuckles from beside me on the bed. 

“Talk about a rude awakening...”

I jolt awake. 

The cat is gone, it’s barely morning, but despite my tiredness, I scramble out of bed, feeling like ants are crawling down my legs—

“Oh, sorry Mom.” 

For what feels like the millionth time lately, I jump, sighing when I see Coraline leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s.... it’s fine, I was already up. Want breakfast?” 

“Sure. Thanks— you gotta eat something too, though.” 

“I always do” , I fib. 

 

⚉⚉⚉

 

“Don’t worry, Ms. Jones, we can do it.” 

I step back with astonishment as Wybie and Coraline proceed to start doing their own dishes.

Not sure whose idea it was, but at least _one_ of them had to be raised right. I’d sure hope so, anyway.

With no chores to busy myself with and my blog updated the prior evening, I have some time on my hands. 

Maybe it’s good weather for gardening? 

It is not, as I come to find out, good weather for gardening. 

Somehow, the mild cloud cover has become a thick soup of mist and darkness. Guess it pays to watch the weather channel once in awhile... 

One call on the house phone later, and Wybie is packed and ready to leave. His grandma had thought it best to get him home before the rain started, if possible, and truthfully I’d been hoping to catch up with Coraline— so I don’t protest the short drive. 

“Thanks again for letting me stay over, Ms. Jones!” , Wybie tells me about halfway to his house. 

“No problem,” I shrug, “She really enjoys hanging out with you.” 

Just as his house is in sight, we both flinch as a worrying clicking noise begins from somewhere in the car. Frowning, I glance at the dashboard— the hood— anything I can see— and find nothing. I laugh nervously. 

“It’s, uh, an old car.” 

As if insulted, the engine suddenly rasps, and I groan as the vehicle slows to a halt. 

“Well, it’s okay, Miss. I can walk from here—“

_**CRACK!** _

“...Or...not.” 

The rain follows immediately, not giving the poor kid even a chance to make a break for the house without getting soaked. 

The rapid-fire pelting of hail on the rooftop is one more bad omen to add to the growing list.

“Um”, says Wybie, “I guess we could really use a— _Hail_ Mary?” 

I snort. “Yeah. Guess we’ll be here awhile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉
> 
> I do apologize for the shortness of this chapter! I’ve got plans for what I want to take place but I’ve also been struggling lately with schoolwork and other matters, so I’ll try to post more often!


	8. The Walls Have Ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read for context!! 
> 
> So, for those of you you haven’t read the book/graphic novel of Coraline, this chapter is going to introduce a character/entity that is **not** mentioned in the movie! 
> 
> To give some info on it: When Coraline is escaping the Other World for the final time/fleeing the other mother, the passageway back to her world starts to come alive, and she mentions that if she fell down there, she might never get up again— but she escapes and closes the door.
> 
> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

### Eight: The Walls Have Ears

### 

When I next open my eyes, the car radio tells me it’s 9 PM. I hadn’t even remembered drifting off. 

Wybie is asleep in the backseat, face pressed into the palm of his hand as he leans on the window. Poor kid must’ve dozed off too. 

The rain’s stopped, finally, and although the ground is probably soup, it’s better than staying overnight in the car and upsetting his grandmother. I’d hate to worry her. 

I peer through the window. 

It’s pitch black outside. Daunting, but I’m determined to get this kid home, so I tap him gently to wake him up. 

He just mumbles something and shuffles out of reach, and I realize I’ll probably have to carry him out. 

In the middle of the night. In the cold, damp darkness. 

No problem...

Wybie is surprisingly heavy as I struggle not to step in the mud, barely making out anything more than a few feet in front of me. The dim light of the dashboard only illuminates the car’s interior, so it isn’t much help outside. 

Huffing, I begin to approach the ivy-covered walls of the Lovat house. 

I manage to climb the front stairs without incident, laying the kid on the small outdoor sofa while I rap my knuckles on the door—

—for it to swing open almost immediately. 

“Goodness, are you both alright? Quite a storm out there.” 

I nod. The woman in front of me smiles tiredly, and I find myself comforted by her slightly messy grey hair and the colorful sweater that hangs loosely off of her shoulders. 

She peers around the corner at her still-sleeping grandson. 

“Won’t you come in? I can just put him right to bed and you can make yourself a nice hot drink, sound good?” 

I want to protest, but the warmth in her voice is inviting, and she’s already hoisted Wybie over a shoulder as if he weighs nothing. Huh. Stronger than she looks. 

To my surprise, there isn’t any tea in her pantry. No coffee, either. 

I’m starting to wonder what the old woman meant by a ‘hot drink’ when I turn to see her holding a kettle. 

“It’s still hot, love, I’ll pour you some.” 

“Thank you.” 

So I sit and talk to her as she gives me a glass of hot apple cider, complaining about the weather and telling wild stories about her late husband. Time seems to stop for awhile. 

Until I check the clock, and upon realizing that it’s _midnight_ , bid Ms. Lovat a hasty goodnight and a thank-you, hurrying back to my car. 

It’s only now that I remember my original problem. 

“Damn” , I mutter aloud, climbing in anyway. 

I put the key back in, turn it, gasp as the engine comes to life, and I laugh to myself. 

Of course it would work _now_.

The drive back home feels like forever. I play music at a low volume to fight off the silence, on edge but not sure why. I guess I’m just anxious to get home to Coraline. She must’ve been worried. 

I find the door locked— I hadn’t locked it when I’d left, so I hadn’t taken my keys— and ring the doorbell. 

After no response, not even footsteps, I ring it again. And again. I begin to worry— is Coraline okay? She’s not normally a heavy sleeper, she would’ve heard me, right? 

And then I see her, in the window, waving her arms in dramatic motions. 

“What?” , I mouth, but she only steps away from it. 

What is she _doing_? 

Annoyed, I walk over to the window. There are times for pranks, and this is not one of them...

“Shit!” , I yelp. 

There’s something wrong with... the windowpane. 

Or, rather, the wall around the window. 

It’s... moving. 

Shaking my head, I look again. It’s definitely moving. Like a living thing. I see Coraline a few feet from the window, shaking her head. 

Don’t touch the walls. Got it. 

Before I pull back, I mouth, “Water damage?” 

A shake of the head. Okay. More inexplicable events. Not like that’s new around here. 

And yet I’m still terrified of it. How am I going to get inside my house? 

Or, more importantly... how is Coraline going to get out? 

 

⚉⚉⚉

 

I frown as Mom leans helplessly on the porch railing outside. 

“Least I got to warn her...”

Honestly, I got pretty worried when Mom didn’t come back after an hour. And then it was two, and then it was three. 

I was worried that she’d been _taken_ again. 

Like last time. 

I never wanted to think about that again, but here I am. It’s lucky that she did come back. 

Only now, there’s another problem. Now, the house itself is against us, and I’d be a lot more confused if I hadn’t seen this before.

Really, I’d first noticed that _it_ was back only a few minutes after Mom had left with Wybie, actually. The breathy noises... the out-of-place softness and warmth of the walls... 

It’s exactly how it was in the passage to the Other World all that time ago.

Well, it hasn’t been _that long_ , but still. Maybe it’s because I’ve been trying to forget about it? 

I’m _not_ forgetting about the fact, mind you, that the other mother came back afterwards— the fact that she took Mom again, and held her captive, and almost killed her. 

And then she didn’t. 

I still can’t think of why. 

But that doesn’t matter now, because I’m trapped all over again, separated from Mom, and I’m pretty sure that whatever this thing is, it’s a whole lot hungrier than that _witch_ ever was. 

A whole lot less willing to talk, too. Everyone knows you can’t reason with a bear or a crocodile. 

You just have to run away, or hide, or hope it finds something else to bite the head off of. 

The trouble here is that this can’t be escaped. 

“Prrrow?” 

Jolting, I see the cat sitting a foot away from me. He looks calm, considering the situation. If he even knows what’s happening, that is.

“Hey... y’know the house is alive, right? Or whatever’s in it, I guess.” 

He blinks once in affirmation, looking bothered. Of course he knew. Haughty thing. 

“Okay. Well, I don’t know what to do. Mom’s outside. Know a way out of here?” 

The cat looks down, and I scoff, because wasn’t he the one who knew how to get out of anywhere? Wasn’t he meant to know his way around? 

Before I can ask another question, the cat’s fur begins to bristle, and I take a step back from the hallway walls, forgetting my proximity. The wallpaper returns to normal, grotesque fleshy texture fading for now. 

Ew...

As I’d pretty much expected, the house phone doesn’t work. When I pick it up to dial the police, all I can hear is a faint crackling noise, like an old television. 

Or a growl. 

Mom stays outside on the porch, and I feel terrible for her each time I pass the front windows. She looks cold and wet, like a lost puppy. 

The cat follows me around, ever-wary of the walls and such, and after what feels like hours, I start to get tired. 

Really tired. Like I’ve just drank a mug of hot chocolate and it’s a cold winter night and I’m snuggled into bed. 

Except I haven’t dared to touch the fridge, it’s awfully humid, and if I fall asleep near a wall or on the floor, I’m sure I’ll never wake up. 

Trying to keep alert, I check on Mom again, the cat close behind me as I peer outside. 

She isn’t there. 

“Mom?” , I shout, knowing she probably can’t hear me, yanking my hands away from the windowpane just in time to avoid the irregular shapes beginning to form in the wall. 

“This is bad... really bad.” 

The cat mews in sympathy, then jerks his tail, looking down the hallway at something I can’t see. 

My voice falls to a whisper. “ _What_?” 

A creak. Did Mom get in the back way...? 

“Mom!” 

I hear something _slam_ , and while the cat hisses in surprise, I scramble towards the sound, skidding into the kitchen and finding the door closed, as it had been before... 

Then what... what was the... 

Oh. 

_That_ door. 

I don’t see the cat. Grabbing a slightly rusted pan off of the stove, I head towards the parlor as quietly as I can. 

Miraculously, the light switch works when I flip it on with a panicked swipe of a hand. Come to think of it, I’d been expecting the walls to try and grab me again, but... nothing. 

But that’s not what my attention is centered on. 

Because the door is open. 

The one in the wall, the one we’d nailed boards over until we could find a decent new wallpaper to cover it. 

“It’s been a little while, hasn’t it?” 

“Jesus!” 

“Mind your language” , mutters the other mother, rising nonchalantly from the couch. 

“I thought you were dead.” 

She laughs. “I haven’t been _alive_ in awhile, dear.” A pause. “Besides, _it_ wouldn’t let me die. It needs me.” 

I don’t care to ask what she’s referring to, shooting the walls a wary glance, so instead I point the pan I’m holding at her, taking a step back. 

“That’s not our fault. Don’t come after me again. Don’t come after my _mom_ again.” 

But she doesn’t get the chance to reply, because there’s a very abrupt and loud _crash _— this time, undoubtedly, from the kitchen.__

We both spring up at once, but I’m smaller and dart out first, nearly falling over with the weight of the pan in my grasp. 

The kitchen door is still closed, but there’s a gaping hole in its middle. 

“Coraline, stand back! I don’t want to hit you with this!” 

Mom’s got a garden shovel, one of the larger ones, and is bashing the door in with it. 

For some reason, whatever’s in the walls is still absent, so it only takes a few more hits before it falls off of its hinges in a pile of splinters, and before I can tell Mom to turn back around and _let me come out_ , she runs in, embracing me. 

“Mom, no—“ 

It’s too late. The walls come back to life, filling in the doorframe with a disgusting mix of wooden splinters and oozing flesh, a horrid growl emitting from somewhere— everywhere— around us. I drop the pan with a clang. 

Mom gasps, holding me tighter, and I have to pull myself out of her grasp and shake her slightly to get her attention, my heart threatening to burst from my chest with its hammering. 

“Mom. She’s back.”

⚉⚉⚉

I feel my body go rigid at Coraline’s words, but I nod, stand back up, and grab the shovel from the floor, careful to avoid the door and walls. 

Esther’s back. And while I don’t see her, I know that it must mean she’s somewhere in the house with us. 

I don’t... I don’t know how to feel about this. 

I am scared, but that’s likely because our house has come alive and I’ve just had to shred the back door with a garden shovel to get in. As you do. 

Other than that, I don’t know how I feel. I don’t what I _should_ feel. Anger? Resentment? 

Whatever she was going to do, she didn’t go through with it, right? I suppose it’s mostly confusion in my head. 

In any case, I don’t have time to dwell on that, I’ve got to focus on getting my daughter out of this nightmare unscathed. 

“I don’t know where she went”, mutters Coraline, “but she was in the parlor when I found her.”

I nod. “Let’s focus on getting out of here first, you can worry about her later. I’m gonna try and hit the door again—“

“NO!”

Her eyes dart around. “...I mean, I don’t think it’ll work. I just don’t want it to get you.” 

“Honey, I know... but what else can I do?” 

Coraline shrugs. Well, okay then. Guess I can’t expect her to be the expert on all things supernatural based off of one weird— although admittedly intense— experience. 

____

To my astonishment, the cat enters the kitchen after about ten minutes, and I’m about to pick him up in a rush when Coraline stops me. 

____

“He knows. He’ll be fine.” 

____

I’m... not even going to question that. 

____

An hour ticks by. We’ve tried the police multiple times, but the phone doesn’t work, and the windows are blacked out by I don’t want to know what. 

____

Poor Coraline looks exhausted, so I hold her in my arms until she dozes off, wincing under the weight but perfectly happy to feel like she’s small again. 

____

My legs fall asleep after awhile, and it would be unbearable if I wasn’t nodding off myself, but I try to stay awake. 

____

Hours pass. The clock on the microwave reads 1:08 AM when I glance at it, and the cat stays perched on the table, pricking my arm with a claw every time my eyes start to close. 

____

But eventually... I do fall asleep. 

____

 

____

⚉⚉⚉

____

 

____

The first thing I’m aware of is a strange pain in my left leg. 

____

I pry my eyes open, my daughter still fast asleep, and try to shift my foot over in the hopes of bringing back some circulation—

____

“Shit! No!”

____

I have to pull violently to get my leg back from the repulsive tendril of matter that’s latched itself onto my ankle. It retracts into the nearest wall like a frightened snake, and I nearly get hit square in the jaw when Coraline snaps her head up off of my shoulder. 

____

“Mom? Who’s here?! What’s happening?” 

____

“Ow.”

____

I rub at my leg, and my daughter climbs off of me, examining the floor. She scrunches up her nose and lifts up a hand, which is coated in something black and gelatinous. “Gross...”

____

Since we’re both starving and sleep-deprived, attempting to eat just ends up getting us nearly caught by the wall-thing— several times. 

____

Eventually I grab a pair of tongs left on the counter and open the pantry with those. We snack on pretzels and peanut butter until the box runs out. 

____

“D’you think the water’s safe?” , she rasps after I set the box down. 

____

“Guess we’ll find out.”

____

It’s fine, and nothing unsavory even comes out of the faucet when I turn it on, which is a miracle in itself. 

____

After that, Coraline sits back down. “We gotta try the door— like you said. It’s all we can do.” 

____

Something about the way the wallpaper ripples when I look at it makes me think that it isn’t such a good idea. 

____

But how else are we getting out of the house? I can’t just give up, but I don’t want to risk... 

____

I can’t leave her alone. 

____

I clear my throat. “Maybe there’s another option-“

____

“Like _what_?”, she retorts. “Mom, I know you’re probably trying to be rational but we’re trapped in the house because of some horrible monstrous thing, and you don’t care! And now the other mother is back and-“

____

“ _She can help us_!”

____

Wow— I’ve never seen her look that angry. 

____

She shakes her head. “She tried to kill me! And then you!” 

____

“But she didn’t... please, Coraline, we don’t have another option. It’s too dangerous to try the door again...”

____

But Coraline isn’t listening anymore. I don’t even have the chance to ask what she’s doing before she’s running at the back door, shovel in hand. There’s an impact. 

____

And then a yelp, because it’s _got_ her, and she’s too small to fight it off. 

____

I don’t even register the moment I plunge my fist into the serpentine blob grasping her arm, but I feel a sizzling pain when it catches hold, releasing my daughter but drawing me further into itself. The shouting of Coraline behind me seems muffled. I kick her away from me to keep her from the walls. 

____

I’m trembling, hurting, but it can’t take her— I refuse to let it. All that matters to me is her safety. 

____

And so I fight it, but I fight her too, knowing I’ll not win, knowing that she won’t give it up either. Knowing it’ll likely take me in the end. 

____

Not going down without resistance... but accepting it. 

____

_I’m sorry_.

____

Until I’m torn away from it in one lightning-fast, tremendous motion, the faint pricks of something sharp in my sides but the rush of air and the feeling of liberation drowning out all else. 

____

...That is, until I hit the ground. Or— until _Esther_ hits the ground and I sort of... just crumble into a useless ball. 

____

I barely have time to get my bearings before Coraline is dragging me off of her. 

____

“Mom! Oh my god it _had_ you, are you okay?!”

____

I lock eyes with her, one hand on her shoulder. It’s all I can really handle with everything that’s going on. Coraline stops shouting. 

____

As my breathing slows, I become gradually more aware of the pain in my arm and torso, where I’d been, well, submerged in the walls. 

____

It’s a burning, tingling pain, like a bad sunburn, but at least I’m intact...

____

Oh, god, right. I turn around when I remember. 

____

Esther is leaning heavily on a counter, looking almost like her normal self— or rather, her more human self— but just a bit too gaunt in the face, and her hands are just a little too slender. 

____

I want to thank her, but I know it’s not... appropriate. 

____

Maybe it’s the right thing to do for _me_ right now, but I know Coraline is still angry. And I should be angry. 

____

I’ve gone over it so many times in my head, and yet I can’t figure out the right thing to do here. Part of me hates myself for not being more upset, more wary of her, because didn’t she threaten my daughter? 

____

I’m _not_ angry about it, but that fact makes me angry at myself. 

____

So I don’t say anything to her, and instead I sit back down in one of the chairs, because it’s the most neutral thing I can think of. 

____

It’s the most ignoring I can bear to do. 

____

Coraline doesn’t move from where she’s standing, surprise-surprise, but I’m too exhausted to care. If she’s going to just stand there looking angry, than that’s fine. 

____

Actually... ha. That’s technically more appropriate. 

____

“We don’t want you here” , says Coraline. 

____

I fidget with my hands and avoid looking at Esther. It’s too much. 

____

Esther sighs. “I know.”

____

“But... we might need you to help us get out. If you can.”

____

Another nod. “I can try.”

____


	9. Sincerity

### Nine: Sincerity 

When I saw what had been happening, I’d grabbed Mel without a second thought. Or perhaps... without giving it a first one. 

Of course I knew how it would be received, I’m no fool. I didn’t do it to be thanked. 

I’m not sure why I did it just yet, but I think I’m beginning to understand. 

It doesn’t matter now, anyway. I’ve agreed to help Mel and her daughter escape. 

I want her to know she can trust me, because if there’s any chance she will let her guard down with me, then... then perhaps I could feel something again. 

I... want to feel. I know that now. 

But first I’ve got to get them out of this mess. 

“Do you know how to get out?” , Coraline presses. 

“I know what’s keeping us here. So I know how to deal with it.”

The girl frowns. “Does that mean we can get out?” 

“If I can draw it away— then yes.”

Coraline nods, halfway turned towards her mother, who’s still recovering in the chair she’s in. 

While they contemplate, I focus on trying to regain my glamour. It might calm them down to see me looking less like myself. 

I manage to shrink down a few inches, wincing at the strain, but eventually find a comfortable point to stop at. 

I’m nearly back to an acceptable appearance, but I can work on it later on when I have the energy for it. I need to save it for whatever plan I come up with. 

Speaking of... 

“Coraline, dear, is that pet of yours around?”

She looks confused momentarily, and then squints her eyes at me, arms folded. “Why?” 

“As much of a nuisance as it is, it’s admittedly found ways into my realm more times than one. Perhaps he knows of a way back now?”

Mel pipes up before her daughter can reply. “But I thought you were getting us out of here?”

I nod. “I am. The thing keeping us here won’t relent. I’m suggesting we try and draw it back into my realm and then trap it there.”

“Like how I did to you?” , Coraline says.

“...More or less.” 

⚉⚉⚉

Coraline leaves to look for the cat after the conversation ends. With her gone, I’m alone with Esther for awhile, and as awkward as it’d been before, it’s worse now. 

_Say something._

She gets there first. 

“Mel.” 

I don’t respond, but I turn towards her somewhat anxiously.

“I miss... how it used to be.” She sounds pained. 

_Wonder why._ She never did apologize. 

I wonder if she even knows what an apology is? 

Esther makes a face— probably because I haven’t said anything back, but then she frowns. “Of course I know what an apology is. If you wanted me to say—“ 

“You heard that?! Did I say that out loud—“

“No.” 

Oh... well. Figures she can do _that_ , too. 

Regardless, I decide to speak aloud; I’m still disconcerted from being read like that. 

“People aren’t supposed to have to ask for an apology, it’s supposed to... you’re just supposed to know what you did wrong. It’s not like a favor that you can just pull out of thin air...”

“Why are you getting upset?”, she snaps.

I flinch. “Wh-What? You tried to kill me! Why do you think?”

Esther just stares silently at me as I catch my breath. 

“You... were my friend, and then you did that to me. Was all of that just an act from the beginning, because if so, I can’t forgive you for that.” 

I pause. “I’m trying not to be angry with you, and I don’t know why, actually, because you don’t really deserve forgiveness for that...”

I swallow. 

“...But I want to forgive you.”

Esther takes a seat across from me, meeting my gaze after a moment. 

“I was not simply acting. I deceived you, yes, and for that I can now say with honesty that I’m sorry— but you must know that I was only doing what I thought was necessary to—“

“Get revenge?”

“...To survive.” 

“Huh?”

For the first time since I’ve known her, Esther looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Throughout my existence I’ve relied on others, but not in any small way. I had to preserve myself. And that often meant—“

“Killing... people...?”

“I—no, not killing...”

“That’s not what Coraline told me.” 

She scoffs indignantly. “The girl is naive! She doesn’t know what she’s talking about!” 

“Do _you_?” , I shout, now aware that I’m standing. 

Esther rises to meet me, _visibly growing_ an inch or two, and as I take a step clear of her I have to catch myself on the counter before I trip over, the near-fall making me gasp. 

She remains where she is, silent and enraged, and then turns on her heel and stalks out of the kitchen. I let out the breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. 

So much for apologies. 

⚉⚉⚉

Of course, I find myself again struggling to keep my eyes open in the kitchen’s dim lighting, ever-wary of the walls but tired enough that I begin to ignore them altogether. 

Coraline had fallen asleep in the dining room about an hour ago, Esther hadn’t shown herself since our fight, and I’d resolved to stay awake, for whatever ridiculous reason. 

I’m starting to realize how futile that goal was. 

I awaken with a sharp inhale, suddenly aware I’d dozed off. 

Luckily, there’s no dark tendril anywhere near me, but the dread of it possibly having gotten to Coraline makes me bolt from my chair, and I swoon a bit from the movement as I practically fall into the next room. 

Coraline is untouched, it would seem, soundly asleep in one of the cushier chairs. The cat is curled on the table beside her, blinking as if to question my distress. 

I laugh weakly. “Hey, buddy. Just checking on her.” 

He twitches his tail at me, and my eyes follow the motion— there’s a light coming from somewhere down the hallway. 

The parlor is lit by only a flickering lamp that I’d thought didn’t even work anymore. 

I snort when I see the figure crouched by the door. “What, running back home?” 

Esther turns around, holding up the unmistakable black key. 

“I’m going to get rid of what’s keeping you here.”

What? I shift from one foot to the other, eyeing the door. “How? What does— what are you gonna do?” 

She stands back up. “I’m going to give it what it wants— or at least make it believe I am.”

“And what does it want?”

“A soul.” 

_That_ takes me aback. I mean... I’ve definitely been through some strange shit lately. There’s no doubt about that. 

But souls? That’s the sort of supernatural that’s borderline unbelievable. 

Or maybe it’s because someone’s saying it aloud. 

If a couple of months ago someone had told me I’d be put into some sort of everlasting sleep and lived with a sinister, supernatural creature, I’d have laughed. 

But laughing doesn’t seem so appropriate now that I’ve lived it. I glance back up at Esther. 

“Is that... is that what you were trying to do to _me_?”

“Yes.” It’s immediate and blunt, which I would normally appreciate, but it’s... _frightening_ , in this context. 

I open my mouth to respond but she beats me to it. “And I’m... sorry for it.” 

This statement is honest, too, but it also sounds like a realization, as if she’d never given an apology in her life. Maybe she hadn’t, come to think of it.

But, regardless... I felt its sincerity. And despite myself, it lifts a weight off of me that I only notice as it flies away. I relax. 

The apology was short, but it was enough. 

“Thank you.” It’s all I can say. 

She nods, looking a little less tense— if that’s possible— and it’s almost comical when she begins reducing in height again, limbs and body evening out until she looks how she does when I’d first met her— healthy, or normal, at least. 

I point to the key. “So...”, I trail off, forgetting what exactly I was trying to ask. 

Her hands look soft again, perfectly manicured nails a bright cherry-red. 

Was it something about the door? No, maybe it was about Coraline? Wait... 

I fail to notice that Esther is about two feet from me when I zone back in. 

She looks... vulnerable. 

Which makes it ten times as difficult to recall what I’d been trying to say, so instead of reacting to her, like I’m supposed to, I just stand there like an idiot. 

...And then she kisses me. 

 

⚉⚉⚉

 

I don’t know what possesses me. 

I don’t know what’s going on at all, frankly, but what I do know is that Mel looks so very soft in the lamplight, a distant look in her eyes... and something about her entire being is just so appealing. 

I barely realize what I’m doing until I’ve done it. The feeling of her lips against mine is electric, intoxicating, warm. 

Just as warm as she’d made me feel... 

...Oh, but what am I doing? I’ve only just apologized to her!

Isn’t she angry? Frightened of me? 

Perhaps I’m scaring her now, even...! 

I pull away. Mel blinks her eyes open in surprise, an endearing blush across her cheeks, and it’s suddenly overwhelming to me that this was a mistake. 

She doesn’t want this; I don’t deserve this— I begin to back towards the door. I need to focus, I need to forget about how... how greatly I want to feel things. 

It’s selfish. I’m selfish. Just as I always have been. 

She reaches for my hand... to grab it back? To hit me away? To take the key? 

“Let— let me do this”, I stutter, “Please forget that.” 

“Esther, wait—“ 

I bat away the hand she extends, unsure if she’s trying to take the key or grab hold of me. Mel frowns, looking a bit disoriented. 

There’s the sudden urge within me, to my surprise, to subdue her again— to carry out my original plan. 

I never really was a being of emotion— perhaps it was meant to be that way, because I’m unable to rationalize Mel’s behavior. 

I can’t begin to understand her hesitance, her indesiciveness about me, at all.

By all means, I am a threat to her— as a whole and especially now. Why in the world is she trying to approach me? 

No— _enough_ of this! Humans are nonsensical, ridiculous— I can’t allow their foolish emotions to direct me as they direct them. I am incapable of anything but instinct. I should be, at least— but what is the difference? 

Looking down at Mel, her emotions are intense. 

The fear is palpable on her face... just as I’d thought. I ignore the surge of guilt and bitterness that comes with the notion. 

Why did I ever think that this one, poor simple woman— this human being, could possibly change any aspect of what I am? 

She’s clearly afraid of me, as she has been as long as she’s known me. 

As she _should_ be. 

I scarcely notice how Mel appears shorter and smaller to me in a matter of seconds; I finally allow myself to relax, falling into my natural form, because there’s no point in keeping up appearances any longer. It benefitted no one but her— and I mustn’t care about what she thinks. 

What she feels. 

It must become as irrelevant as it once was in order for me to get what I need and move on. This should have been obvious to me— why have I been so easily tricked? 

“What’s going on?”, she says, clearly noticing the drastic change and taking a few backward steps of her own. A chuckle escapes me. 

“Oh, I’ve just grown... bored of this _game_ “, I quip. “After all, all good things must come to an end.”

She stares blankly at me, quite obviously not understanding, so I continue. 

“As entertaining as playing at being human was, you must know that I’m not capable of feeling as you feel.” 

Mel shakes her head. There are, quite suddenly, tears on her face. “That isn’t true,” she whispers. 

What doesn’t she understand? We played a long-running game of feelings and philosophy. I was a bit too... drawn in, is all. She nearly fooled me into believing it. And that’s that.

But Mel isn’t letting this go. 

“I’m... I’m okay with you kissing me, is that what’s getting to you? I was okay with it!” 

How amusing that she’s trying to lecture me on this. The smart move would be for her to run. I can’t help grinning at how easy she’s about to make it for me.

”You can’t just back out of it because you got scared of _feeling_!” 

My smile fades at that. 

“I am not _afraid_ of something that cannot possibly happen.” I advance on her, my annoyance growing. How dare she insult me like this. 

She backs into the hallway, eyes wide and wet with tears. _Run, you enchanting imbecile..._

As I’m about to make a grab for her, I look up. 

Coraline is in the hallway, and she doesn’t look pleased. 

_Very well then_ , I think bitterly. 

Two birds with one stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉
> 
> Exactly one month later! 
> 
> ...Yeah, it’s still a long wait, I know. 
> 
> To be honest, I’d written so many different endings for this chapter, it was difficult to actually stay on the track I wanted to be on.
> 
> But the good news is I’m officially graduating high school in 2 days, so at least I’ll not have anxiety about posting too late! 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed, the next update should be earlier than a month from now, but if not, at least it won’t be later than that, I swear. 
> 
> -Kat


	10. Trust

### Ten: Trust

____________________________________

_For the first time in days, it’s not raining, and Wybie Lovat is okay with that._

____________________________________

“I already put _on_ sunscreen, Gram!”, I shout as I leave my house, almost tripping on my way down the stairs. It’s been way too long since I’ve gotten to go out. 

Gram hates storms... they spook her real bad. So, _that_ normally means that I’m stuck in the house until she tells me I can leave. 

I don’t even see the big deal, anyway— I’m almost twelve years old! Practically a teenager! What’s a little thunder gonna do?

Despite the clear skies, it’s still pretty swampy out. Good thing I have rain boots. 

Naturally, I head up the big hill to stop by the well. I used to bike over there all the time— even before I met Coraline, but now I always pick up a rock to toss into the well. 

Yeah, Coraline’d probably kill me if she knew— but it’s just for kicks, really. No biggie. 

Not like I’m gonna piss off the Other Mother, right? 

It’s just her hand down there, and it’s all broken up anyway, so... I’m not too worried about it. 

Besides, it’s a good chance to make sure the cover’s not broken or worn down or anything. Better safe than sorry. 

I’m still definitely _not_ telling Coraline. 

Except when I reach the hilltop, this time, I think I might need to make an exception to that rule. 

Because, you see, unlike all the other times I’ve come up here to the well... 

The cover’s off. 

I’m so out of breath when I reach the Pink Palace that I think must’ve I ruptured a lung. There’s Ms. Jones’s car outside, though, so that means they’re both home.

Reaching for the doorbell, I take a shaky breath. 

I need to warn Coraline about this. 

 

⚉⚉⚉

 

There’s a threat looming over me. 

Literally. She’s like eight feet tall right now. 

So while I back the hell away from that, I glance down the hall. 

My daughter is standing there, and at once I’m overwhelmed with urgency. Somehow, I need to get her out of this, but I don’t have the time... 

I take one look at her and make a decision. 

“Find a place— go!” 

And just like that, we both spring into action right as Esther lurches towards me, missing my shoulder by a centimeter. Coraline breaks left into a room that I know has a closet— and I break right. 

Unfortunately for me, this one doesn’t have a closet. 

I watch Esther skid to a stop in the hallway, cursing when she hears the slam of a door in the other room. 

She knows that it would have taken more time. It would give _me_ time to get away. 

So, instead of that, she follows me to the room where I’ve inevitably gotten myself cornered.

Though I’m shaking, I don’t regret it for an instant. If Coraline gets the chance to sneak off, it’ll be worth it. But I don’t welcome it, because the look of sheer malice on her face is horrid. I don’t expect this to end well for me at all... 

Then there’s a knock at the nearby front door. 

Just one. 

It’s enough to make me jump, but it also draws Esther’s attention away for the smallest moment— 

—A moment long enough for me to push off of the wall like a crazed monkey and bolt to the front door. It’s my only chance. 

As soon as I reach for the handle, the walls move, more quickly than usual— desperate. 

It’s already too late. The icy hand grasping my wrist is too fast, too strong for me to pull away. 

But I do try. 

I try when Esther marches me back towards the parlor room, I try when she flings open a door, and I try even harder when she drags me through it into complete and utter darkness. 

Coraline’s muffled voice calling for me is the last thing I hear before I’m gone, before something clouds my vision and I black out. 

 

⚉⚉⚉

 

I feel my own heartbeat resounding in my chest before I even register I’m awake. 

Am I... still sleeping? 

My eyes feel heavy. Too heavy. 

Something’s not right. 

I blink, or try to, only succeeding in scrunching my eyelids against whatever’s keeping them closed. Whatever’s plastered over my face is, of all things, adhesive. 

Numbly I’m aware that I can’t move my limbs much either. Not that they won’t move— but something very sturdy and flexible is all over my body. 

The small surface I can feel apart from the material is freezing cold against my back, so cold that my thin sweater does nothing to insulate me. I shiver involuntarily. 

I try to focus on what I can do. I can breathe. I can feel. 

I can hear. 

A faint noise, one I hadn’t noticed until now, makes the hairs on my neck and arms stand on end. 

It isn’t breathing— more of a hollow sigh. 

And it’s a few feet from wherever I’m propped up. Esther, I think, and I try to say something, but realize my mouth is covered as well. 

A small thump to my left indicates someone else in the room, and after a moment of haphazard bumping accompanied by no words at all I reason that Coraline’s restrained as well. 

_That_ makes me shake with fury. I try in vain to thrash my head and free my hands. 

I instead hurt my head and fall back in frustration, panic threatening to set in, when I feel a cold hand begin to peel back whatever’s over my eyes. 

Esther tears the piece of material from my eyes, and I’m momentarily grateful I can’t speak. 

Her face is more distorted than before; it’s sharper, less friendly. 

Bone-white... shattered. Like glass. 

The room we’re in resembles my own parlor, but with more decor, albeit deteriorated and worn. On a nearby wall, there’s a massive, intricate glass case, with dozens of insects of every size, shape, and brilliant color displayed inside. I almost feel like one of them myself. 

I force myself to meet her gaze. 

“I am willing”, says Esther, “to allow you to leave.” 

I glance to Coraline, wincing when I see that what appears to be some sort of webbing is the material holding her and I. 

Esther deftly catches the side of my face with a hand— or whatever that is— and turns me back to her. 

“Mel, dear, listen to me.” 

I jerk my head as much as I can, trying my best to communicate my anger with only my eyes. 

This seems to be her limit. She tears the remaining web from my face. 

My mouth is dry, but I don’t cough. That would be rude. 

“Esther, I’m sorry if you got overwhelmed.”

She just looks at me. Or the wall, maybe, I don’t know. I keep talking. 

“I know you’re... _different_ from anyone I’ve ever met. Maybe you’re not used to feeling—“

“ _That_ ”, Esther bites, “is not what I am discussing with you. I am offering you an escape.” 

“I don’t want it. Not without Coraline. And to be honest, not without you either.” 

Esther looks almost hilariously dumbfounded, as if I’d just suggested we host a bake sale or something else completely unrelated to the situation. 

Interestingly, she moves to where Coraline is and takes off her webbed blindfold. Coraline immediately shoots her a death glare. 

Afterwards, she returns to me. 

“Has it truly been real this entire time?” Esther fidgets absently with an obscure piece of furniture, face cast downwards. “I don’t know whether to trust my habits or to trust...”, she trails off. 

“...To trust _you_.”

I nod, wary of saying something to upset her— I let her continue.

“It is difficult for me to accept the things I’ve begun to... to feel. I cannot decide if I can trust those feelings. I’m truthfully no expert with the topic.” 

“That’s okay”, I say cautiously. “That’s normal, I think.” 

Esther actually laughs at that. “Normal? Nothing about what I am is ‘normal’, I hope you’re aware.” 

Coraline’s muffled scoff from beside me doesn’t draw her attention. 

Moving from where she’d been standing a little bit away, Esther raises a metal hand to my neck as if intending to tear the webbing from it. 

She hesitates. “I don’t want to die.” 

“Will you?” 

“I’m not quite sure anymore.” 

I attempt to shrug a shoulder. “You’d be sparing two lives either way if you let us go”, I say softly. 

“I know you won’t kill me, anyway.” 

Esther says nothing, hand still frozen near my throat. 

“Right?” 

Something in her face contorts briefly, and for a brief instant I’m actually certain she’s going to cut me open. 

There’s a soft metallic click. A swipe of her hand. I feel the pressure lift from my collarbone. 

Esther snags the wispy material and frees my hands next. She moves to Coraline wordlessly as I start to peel the restraints from my body, stretching sore limbs as I step down from where I’d been fixed to the wall. 

I scarcely have time to turn around before Coraline is embracing me, tiny arms wrapped tightly around my middle. I let myself relax for just a moment and breathe in my daughter’s flowery smell. 

Coraline jumps up, then, snatching the black key from Esther’s open hand without a second thought and walking to the door on the other side of the room. 

I turn towards the door, hesitant. 

“Don’t leave me alone”, says Esther. It’s barely above a whisper. Her hands click faintly together as she fidgets with them. 

“Coraline, go ahead. I’m fine. Don’t wait up.”

For the first time in what seems like an eternity, my daughter doesn’t argue with me. 

Coraline simply nods, though the look on her face says _Be careful_. And then she leaves. 

I pull a stray piece of webbing off my sleeve. “I’m not leaving you alone. You _want_ to change.”

“I do.” 

“Then you can start by trusting me.”

“I can”, she says, excitedly, “I want to.” 

Her hands stop moving. 

“I need you”, she adds. 

For some reason, that hits me in a tender place, and I’m unable to stop the sudden tears that follow. 

_This is good,_ I think. It’s growth. 

It’s _hope_. 

“See,” I sniffle, smiling like an idiot, “That’s proof you do have a soul.” 

 

⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

_Near a tall, old pink mansion, Mel Jones digs in a garden, trying her hardest to avoid touching the dirt that’s all around her. She frowns deeply when she inevitably flicks mud on herself._

_A fair and dainty hand offers her a handkerchief, which Mel takes gratefully, ignoring the smirk on the other’s face. There’s nothing wrong with liking things clean._

_Below the house, and somehow within it as well, an ancient entity lies, its great and long lifespan finally at an end, a once-mighty lion of a hunter now reduced to feeble and weakening tendrils of dying matter._

__

_All things considered, it seems this place is well suited for such a proud and wise cat such as Coraline’s to reside in._

__

_It’s got plenty of rodents around, lots of space to explore, and a handful of beings who care for it. It’s no grand palace, sure, but it’s a good place for a cat to be._

__

_After all, where else would it even spend eight more lifetimes?_

__

 

__

⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉
> 
> Please let me know what your thoughts are. I really enjoyed writing this.
> 
> A **huge** thank you to my supporters and even just anyone who’s left kudos on this!
> 
> Thank you again for reading! 
> 
> I’ll be continuing this series with a sequel to this one, and then a _separate_ story that’s related to the Coraline movie, think of it as a prequel. 
> 
>  
> 
> -Kat
> 
>  
> 
> ⚉⚉⚉⚉⚉


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